Equinox
by poolebandgirl
Summary: Edward and Bella make a grisly discovery - the dismembered body of a small, African-American vampire. Grace is a former slave, snatched from her plantation on the cusp of puberty. Alone in the world, she bounces from coven to coven, until a violent attack brings her into the care of the Cullens. Can the Cullens persuade this strange, shy creature to adopt their way of life?
1. Chapter 1 Pain

1. Pain

Pain. At first, all I am aware of is pain. There has been betrayal, too, but it is a vague notion, masked by the pain. Somebody has done this to me but I can't remember who or why. All I know is the pain, which is white-hot and consumes every molecule of my being in its fiery grip. And despite the pain, I am aware that I am paralysed – I can not move my limbs, or feel my lungs, or draw breath to scream or beg for death. I am also blind, my vision filled with the whiteness of the pain. But I can hear, and after a period of time – is it hours? - weeks? - millennia? - I become aware of voices. Two voices, one male, one female, and both of them clearly vampiric; even through the wall of agony, I can tell from the timbre.

"Oh, my God," whispers the female, close by to my left. "Is it – is she – alive, Edward?"

"Yes." This voice, the male, is much further away. He sounds pained.

"How has this happened? What do we do?"

"I've no idea, Bella. I think we'll have to take her to Carlisle. If anything can be done, he'll know."

There is a rustling near me – the female is doing something, but I can't see or move or communicate in any way. "They built a pyre, Edward. They were about to burn her."

"I know. But they heard us approach, they're gone now. I think we need to move quickly in case they come back."

There is a pause. The female seems to be waiting for something.

"Bella?" the male calls. "I can't get any closer – you have to shield her from me, so I can't hear her pain. It's – exquisite…"

Before I can ponder the meaning of those words, a pair of cool, marble hands is caressing my face, and the male speaks gently into my ear.

"I'm so sorry for what's happened to you, sweetie. We're going to take you to someone who can help. Please trust that we're acting in your best interest. But I think moving you is going to be very painful, and I'm really sorry. You're going to have to be brave – can you do that?"

I am incapable of answering, or even giving any indication that I have understood. Otherwise I would tell him to light the pyre and end the suffering now. The pain is already beyond all endurance.

"Bella, have you got all the pieces? You're sure? Okay, help me lift – and whatever you do, don't lower your shield."

"Edward, I feel sick," she whispers.

"It's alright. You won't be sick. Lift on three."

I want to ask, what pieces? But suddenly, impossibly, the pain increases ten-fold, and for a long time I am aware of nothing else. I have no coherent thought other than a silent, internal scream.

I begin to realise that the pain is not always constant. For most of the time, I burn white-hot, unaware of anything outside the pain, but sometimes it will abate marginally, and for a while, my hearing and my ability to hold on to conscious thought return to me. So occasionally, I am aware of a clock ticking, a rustle of papers, footsteps and quiet voices. I realise I must be in a house, but I can make no more of this information before the next wave of pain hits me and I'm lost to the whiteness again.

Through the pain, I become aware of hands stroking my face, and a male, different to the other one, cheerfully asks me how I feel. Then something is pressed against my mouth – some sort of pouch – which my teeth instinctively puncture, and I find myself drawing blood, cold and stale. It smells unpleasant, tastes wrong, but I drink deeply, and find it is gone all too soon. As soon I have drunk, a fresh wave of pain hits; incredibly it is even more intense than I have experienced yet. I try to writhe, try to scream, but my body is simply not responding to me.

Then I hear the male call to others for help, and three more pairs of feet approach.

"The spine isn't knitting together properly," he says. "We're going to have to straighten it. Bella, shield her so that you and Edward can hold her legs down – Esme, take her arms. Keep her steady."

And suddenly, I feel his hands, which have been so gentle and caressing until now, clamp themselves hard onto the sides of my head. Shocked, my eyes fly open, and I find myself staring up into the strangest, amber-eyed face. The eyes are kind, and full of pity, but the jaw has a hard set to it. I try to beg him to leave me alone, but I have no voice. Why would they bring me here, speak to me in kind voices, only to try to pull my head from my shoulders?

I hear a loud cracking noise, then with a strange flowing sensation, feeling returns to my limbs and chest, and my lungs draw in a huge breath. Before I can use the air to fuel another scream, the pain intensifies yet again, and for an age, it is my only concern – the amber eyes, the voices, even awareness of my own self, are lost to this new, infinitely more excruciating pain.

After an eternity, some of my senses return once more. The same hands are holding me, the same voices talking, and I realise that almost no time at all has passed.

"She won't stop kicking," the voice called Bella is complaining.

"We have to keep her still," the man whose name I don't know replies. "Her spine won't mend like this."

"I can do it," another female voice interrupts.

"Esme, you won't be able to move once you're there. You might have to stay with her for days. I can't predict how long this will take."

"I can do it," she repeats, quietly. There is a short pause.

"Alright. Help me get her on her side, then you can lie behind her and hold her still."

The hands begin to move me, and the pain reaches a new spike, rendering me insensible yet again. For a long time, I continue to move between different states of consciousness. I never become unconscious – such a mercy is unavailable to my kind – but there are timeless periods of white-hot pain where I am aware of nothing else, and other periods where the pain is merely unbearable and I am aware of the room outside of my body, and the people who move in and out of it.

Esme becomes a constant amongst the disjointed moments of awareness. Her body is pressed against my back, one arm under my head to support my neck, the other around my torso gripping me firmly. One of her legs also rests over mine, and I find myself completely immobilised. But her embrace is comforting, and I can often hear her humming soothingly in my ear. Being held in this way somehow makes me feel safer, cocooned and protected. I discover I have my sense of smell now; Esme's own sweet, vampire scent mingles with floral soap and contrasts against the sharp, disinfectant tang of the rubber sheet on which we lie.

After Esme, my most regular visitor is the man, who I learn is called Carlisle. His arrival is generally followed by gentle probing – along my spine, my arms and my shoulders. Sometimes he gently pulls my eyelids open, and I see his own amber eyes peering into mine, creased with concern. Occasionally, another strange pouch is pressed to my mouth, and I feed hungrily, instinct taking over, although I know another spike in the pain will follow.

I find myself unable to open my own eyes, or lift my arms or speak or give any indication that I am alert. I am trapped, and very afraid.

Time passes sporadically. One time, after a seemingly short period of extreme pain, I come to myself and find that day has changed to night, but far more often, I come round from an apparent eternity to find that only seconds could have passed; Carlisle or Esme are still mid-sentence, still finishing whatever they were saying before the white-hot infinity took me. Esme and Carlisle often converse quietly together. His voice is tender when he speaks to her, loving in fact, and I realise Esme must be his mate.

At some point, the others return with Carlisle to turn me onto my other side and I am plunged into another white-hot hell until Esme resumes her strange embrace. Another pouch is offered and consumed. More probing. Another attempt to look into my eyes; another frown of concern at whatever is seen there. The pain waxes and wanes. Aeons pass, or maybe hours, I don't know which, and I begin to find that each waxing of the pain reaches a negligibly lesser peak, each waning brings microscopically more relief.

During one lull, I realise that I have been laid on my back and Esme is no longer holding me, but I can hear her nearby, still humming. I try to open my eyes; nothing. I try to move my hand; nothing. But when I try to move my foot, I feel it twitch. Esme must have noticed; the humming stops, something creaks – has her weight shifted in a chair? – and she calls out softly for Carlisle, who is here in a heartbeat.

"Her foot, Carlisle, she was moving."

"Another spasm."

"No. It looked deliberate."

There is a long pause. Are they watching to see if I could do it again? I try, but this time my legs let me down and I can't manage another twitch.

"She moved before," Esme insists quietly.

"Alright. Edward?"

There is the unmistakeable sound of footsteps on stairs, then Edward's voice comes from what I assume is the direction of the doorway.

"I can't, Carlisle."

"Please. Just for a few moments. We need to know. Can she hear us?"

A pause.

"Yes."

"And the pain?"

"Lessening."

"Does she understand us? Is she aware?"

"I don't know. Ask her something."

Another pause, then Esme's voice murmurs in my ear.

"Tell us your name, darling. Think it, as hard as you can."

"It's Grace," Edward announces, to my absolute astonishment. It's like he can pluck thoughts straight from my head!

"That's exactly what I am doing," Edward says – in response to my thoughts?

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Grace," Esme says, "I'm Esme, this is my husband Carlisle, and our adopted son, Edward."

"She knows. Grace, I can hear most things that you think of. If you need me, think of my name, I will come to you. If you need one of the others, think of them, and I will send them to you. Anything else you need, just picture it, and we'll do our best for you. Do you understand?"

I promptly reward him by remembering the sensation of teeth puncturing plastic and cold, stale blood flowing. I'm thirsty.

"We're out of supplies at the moment. It might take a while," he explains.

I picture instead a live human, soft and yielding, the hot, nourishing blood flowing. My throat bursts into flames at the thought. Edward groans, and I hear him stagger back slightly.

"We'll have a conversation about diet at some point," he promises, sounding strained.

"Thank you, Edward," Carlisle says. "Do you need to leave now? Off you go, then."

I hear Edward's footsteps moving away and Carlisle's approaching. Edward was right about the pain. It is lessening. And my hearing is becoming more acute, my ability to stay in the present rather than be carried on the white waves improving. I feel Carlisle's hands on me again, and realise the probing is some sort of medical examination. He opens my eyes in turn again. I can see his kind, concerned expression, I want to respond to him somehow, but when he releases my eyelid, it falls shut again.

"Her pupils are reacting now, that's progress," he tells his wife. "You know, I've seen something like this in humans. They call it locked-in syndrome. The person gives the appearance of being in a coma, but actually his mind is conscious, perfectly aware but unable to respond."

"That's horrible! What do we do?" Esme asks him. He has moved away now, but Esme stays close, stroking a hand gently down my cheek, along my arm and onto my hand. I concentrate hard, trying to move my fingers. I must have managed something, because Esme exclaims.

"I saw it that time," Carlisle confirms. "She's making a real effort to communicate. When Edward's had a rest, we'll get him back."

But now, I'm exhausted and the pain begins to crest a fresh wave, so I allow myself to drift. Their voices continue, but fade away behind me.

I continue to drift in and out of awareness. During the lengthening periods of awareness, I often find that Esme or Carlisle are manipulating my limbs; bending and straightening my joints, massaging muscles, gently curling and uncurling my fingers. Sometimes, Edward comes into the room, and the questions begin, but beyond my name, and questions about my immediate environment – do I know who is in the room with me? Am I in pain? Where is the pain? Am I thirsty? – I'm not able to help much. He wants to know who my assailants are, why they attacked me, whether I have a coven who are missing me, but I'm unwilling to share. The memories are too painful, and I am afraid that if this strange, gentle family knew what the others knew, they would finish the job themselves. I quickly learn that if I think about my pain, Edward backs off hurriedly and the questioning ceases.

Outside, the birds are singing. Their trill notes encroach on my awareness only slowly, so that by the time I realise I am listening to them, it seems they have always been there. To my right, I can hear gentle breathing and the quiet turning of pages. I try to turn toward the sound, and to my surprise, my head complies. I open my eyes to find myself staring at the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is still reading, apparently unaware of my movement, so I observe unseen her soft tresses and pale skin. She shares the kind amber eyes of her husband, and her heart-shaped face tapers into a delicate chin and a small but sensual cupid's bow for a mouth. The sun is shining through the window, lighting her skin in a billion diamond facets which reflect all around the room. Before I know what I am doing, I reach out a hand and lay it against her arm. Her breath catches, but she remains motionless. Our eyes meet briefly over her book, then I glance down at our arms, and her eyes follow. My own arm is dark mahogany against her alabaster, and it glitters with gold in the sunlight. I raise my eyes to the ceiling, where the reflection of my gold intermingles with the reflection of her diamonds in a dancing pattern of light.

"Carlisle," Esme calls quietly, and the spell is broken. I clamp my arm back to my side and close my eyes tightly, becoming still once more, not daring even to breathe.

Two pairs of feet approach.

"She's much more alert," Edward breathes.

"Hello, Grace." Carlisle is already fussing over me, lifting my hand and gently pinching a finger. I am careful to remain limp, but he is not fooled. He tries to open my eye, but I squeeze hard, and he lets go.

"Grace, you're quite safe," he says, sternly. "We are not going to harm you. We want to help you. Please, open your eyes and look at me."

Reluctantly, I find myself doing as I am bidden. My eyes open, and I stare up into his. Having gained at least some cooperation from me, his expression softens, becomes kind once more. He lifts my hand again.

"That's better. Can you squeeze my fingers, please?"

Puzzled, I do as he asks. A flicker of concern crosses his face, almost too fast for me to see, then his calm manner resumes. He does the same with the other hand, then moves down to my legs. He bends each knee in turn, placing my foot against his chest and asking me to push. His face remains carefully expressionless as I do so. He returns to stand beside my head, feeling around my neck. The pressure of his fingers hurts and I wince.

"That's painful?" he asks.

I try to say "Yes," but to my horror, nothing comes out, not even a whisper. I clutch my throat, aghast. Esme moves closer and begins to stroke my face.

"Don't worry, darling. It'll get better, I'm sure," she soothes.

"Do you know what happened to you?" Carlisle asks.

I watch his face carefully, unsure whether I should trust him. We size each other up for a long moment, then I shake my head slowly, once to the left then back to facing upwards. As I do, I catch sight of Edward out of the corner of my eye. He is watching me shrewdly, his lips pursed.

"Well, no matter. It's early days yet. You were in a shocking state when Bella and Edward found you – it appears some other vampires tried to destroy you. They had built a pyre before they were disturbed. Any ideas about that?"

I shake my head again.

"They were her coven," Edward interjects. "But she doesn't want to discuss them until she's ready."

I glower at him, and he returns my stare with careful indifference. Carlisle pretends not to notice our exchange.

"You suffered extensive injuries," he goes on. "Should I tell you?"

I nod once.

"Very well. They had tried to dismember you. Your limbs had been pulled apart, and they had tried to remove your head. The spine was snapped and you were hanging on by the tendons. But you're healing well. You are quite weak still, and it seems your vocal chords haven't recovered yet, but I'm optimistic that you'll make a full recovery."

A memory occurs, through the fog of pain, of Edward asking Bella if she got all the pieces. Alarmed, I hold my hands up in front of my face, looking for missing fingers. There is a lot of scarring around my left wrist, and on two fingers of my right hand.

"It's okay," Edward assures me, "we were very thorough. You're quite whole."

I know I should thank them for all they have been doing for me, but right now I just feel overwhelmed. I have seen vampires destroyed before, heard the shocking screech of vampire limbs torn from the body and witnessed the horror in the eyes of the victim, always conscious to the very end, until the flames consumed all. To picture myself in such a state is too much – I drop my hands to my face, roll to my side and pull my knees up into the foetal position. With no tears to cry, and no voice to scream, I am racked instead with violent shudders, and I begin to hyperventilate.

Immediately, Esme's arms enclose me in a tight embrace and Carlisle's hands begin stroking my back, both of them making soothing noises. Behind me, Edward makes a gagging noise, and I hear his footsteps leave the room, the door closing firmly behind him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, later. There is still no voice, but the others seem perfectly able to lip read. My bed, which appears to be an old hospital gurney, has been raised so that I'm nearly in a sitting position. Edward has returned to the room with Bella, and they stand by the bed, their arms around each other. Esme is in her chair beside me, holding my hand, while Carlisle stands by the foot of the bed.

I look at Bella properly for the first time, and realise she is a much younger vampire than the others – surely no more than a decade. Edward and Esme seem to be around the century mark, but Carlisle is much older – possibly double my own two centuries.

"You're curious about us," Edward observes. I nod, warily. Curious is as good a word as any. And it might stop them asking questions for a while, if they're going to tell me their own history.


	2. Chapter 2 The Strangest Family

2. The Strangest Family.

"We should start with Carlisle," Esme suggests. She glances at her husband who smiles warmly at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Carlisle was the first of our family. He lived in London in the sixteen hundreds. He was bitten by the vampire he and his mob were hunting and left for dead. Carlisle didn't want to be a monster, had no desire to kill and feed upon humans like the creatures he had hunted. He learned to control his thirst, and over time, he trained to become a doctor. Edward came next. Carlisle found him dying of influenza in a hospital in Chicago in nineteen eighteen. Carlisle was desperately lonely, and changed Edward so he would have a companion.

"Then he found me, left for dead in a morgue."

So Carlisle had his own unique way of helping the humans he couldn't heal. I wonder what Bella was dying of.

"Oh, Bella came a lot later. And our family is bigger than the four you see here," Edward tells me, hearing my thoughts again. "Rosalie was next. Carlisle smelt her blood and heard her cries in the street after she had been attacked. He had hoped she would become a mate for me, like Esme had for him, but it didn't work out that way. Then one day, Rosalie brought us Emmett, barely alive after a bear attack. Carlisle changed him, too, and they've been inseparable since."

Carlisle takes up the tale. "For some decades, it was the five of us, then we were found by Alice, and her mate, Jasper. Alice has a unique talent, stranger than Edward's in many ways, and she foresaw that she would meet us and become part of our family."

"And then came Bella," Edward joins in, smiling. "She was still human when we met. It's not easy, a relationship with a human."

Eight of them. That's the biggest clan I've ever known of, besides the Volturi. I want to ask, why fall in love with a human? Why not simply feed? The whole tale is strange – why would Carlisle want to control his appetite and become a doctor? Edward smiles more widely, hearing my questions.

"There aren't eight, there are ten," he replies. "Bella and I married – she was still human – and she fell pregnant. Yes, that was a shock," he adds in response to my expression. "We had no idea such a thing could happen. The baby was half human and half immortal, and bearing her was too much for Bella – she almost died during childbirth. The only way to save her was to make her one of us."

I glance questioningly towards Carlisle.

"No, Edward did it," Bella continues. "Edward made me a vampire, and Renesmee is our daughter. She grew alarmingly fast – she was an adult by the age of seven. Then three weeks ago, on her tenth birthday, she married her lifelong companion, Jacob." Bella sighs, and I wonder how much more there is to this part of the tale. "It's been hard for us, seeing her grow so fast, and having to let her go so soon. Edward and I came here to be alone for a while, to adjust, I guess."

"But nothing ever goes to plan with Bella around," Edward tells me, squeezing her shoulder fondly. "She found you, and we called Carlisle, and here we all are."

They all fall silent for a few moments, while I take it all in. The covens I had encountered in the past were never more than two or three in size and very transient in nature – I had joined and left several, rarely staying for more than a few months with one exception. A coven of ten, the core of whom have been together for the better part of a century, is quite remarkable.

"Grace is wondering how we do it," Edward tells the others.

"It's our diet," Carlisle answers. "In fact, I wanted to talk to you about that. I've noticed your eye colour – it's a lot lighter than most vampires, almost orange. Why is that, do you think?"

I can't tell them. I mustn't let Edward see. I picture the pain to keep him out.

"Please don't," he whispers. "Just imagine a brick wall, or something. I promise not to look over it."

Esme puts her hand on my shoulder, turning my attention to her.

"Look at our eyes," she says, gently. "You can't have failed to notice our colouring. It's because of our diet. We don't drink human blood."

I stare. Esme correctly guesses at my surprise.

"Some of us have never tasted human blood. Others have had to learn to abstain."

I raise my eyebrows.

"She wants to know why," Edward supplies.

"Conscience," Esme says, simply. "We think it's wrong to murder humans. So we feed on an alternative. Animal blood. And we believe it's what makes us more peaceful, able to live in a large family amongst humans."

"Grace, is your diet entirely human?" Carlisle asks.

I just stare, afraid to tell them. Is this a trick question? What's the right answer?

"Why is this difficult?" Esme asks.

Reluctantly, I allow Edward a tiny glimpse – of me, looking up from the carcase of an elk to find a vampire, a member of my coven at the time, watching me, a look of disgust and horror on her face. Of how she and her mate, who for months had treated me like their own child, had chased me away, calling me an abomination, threatening to tear me apart if they saw me again. Then, unbidden, an image of my companions of just a few days ago, pouncing on me while I fed on a bob-cat. I had thought myself alone, and they had surprised me, otherwise – I clamp down hard on the thought before Edward can see any more. Our eyes meet.

"She's been attacked in the past, when other vampires have caught her feeding," he explains, succinctly. "We won't do that, Grace. Please trust us."

Perhaps I should just tell them. I'm at their mercy right now whatever I do. Inside my head, I give Edward another glimpse of me hunting in the mountains. I love mountains, although I can't explain why. I show him the deer, the elk, the bears, the lions, and the most prized prey of all – the lone traveller! My throat constricts painfully at the memory, reminding me of my thirst. Edward frowns momentarily.

"When she's too far from humans, she feeds on animals," he tells the others. "You spend a lot of time on your own in the wilds, don't you?"

"So your diet's mixed?" Carlisle confirms. "I thought as much. Your eye colour made me think so. Have you ever thought of abstaining from human blood?"

There are a hundred reasons I can think of why that is a ridiculous idea, and I have no voice to explain any of them. I look to Edward but he just smiles at me.

"You can tell him yourself when you're able," he suggests.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" Carlisle says, but he's smiling at me.

Abruptly, Edward's head turns toward the door.

"Alice and Jasper have come!" he announces, looking surprised.

With a nod from Carlisle, he and Bella disappear from the room. I hear their feet descend stairs, then a door opening. An unfamiliar voice, girlish and exuberant greets them, echoed by a deeper voice with a southern drawl.

"You needn't have come," Edward is saying. I can't hear any reply, but he goes on, "That's as maybe, but I'm not sure she'll cope with more visitors. She's incredibly shy as it is."

His protestations are clearly ignored, as two unfamiliar sets of feet approach, followed by Edward and Bella. A young woman dances into the room. She's tiny, not very much bigger than me, with a shock of dark, cropped hair that accentuates her elfin features.

"Hello, I'm Alice," she states, not waiting to be introduced. Unperturbed by my shocked expression, she lifts my unresisting hand and shakes it. "And this is my mate, Jasper…" she looks around when she realises he isn't beside her; he has hung back, just outside the doorway. "Oh, look, he's shy, too!" she exclaims.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," Jasper says, but does not come any closer – I crane my neck painfully but can't see him properly.

"Alice, you really are too much! Come away, give her some space," he admonishes.

"Oh, but she needs clothes, Jasper, and I've brought lots –" she breaks off as her eyes become unfocussed for the tiniest second. "All right, then," she sighs. "It might be better if Esme shows them to her."

And just like that, she dances away again. Outside the door, I hear her whisper to the other vampire, "She doesn't say much, does she?"

Esme watches her leave, an indulgent smile on her face, then turns back to me.

"Don't worry; they're both lovely," she says, "Alice just gets a little… enthusiastic."

Carlisle pats my arm. "Maybe Esme can pick you out some clothes, and we'll see if you're able to get up yet," he says. "You must be incredibly thirsty. There are plenty of deer nearby, if that would be acceptable…?"

Well, of course, I would have preferred human blood, but these strange vampires seem absolutely sincere in their belief that they should not hunt humans. As their guest, I will have to go along with it for now…

The meadow is bright in the moonlight. I sit on a tree trunk and wait, not sure quite what is expected of me. Edward and Bella have moved further into the forest, while Esme has hung back a little, on the path that leads back to the lakeside and the strange lodge that is their home. For now, I'm quite alone, and use the peace to take stock of my situation.

Several things are becoming clear. It is obvious what had happened after the others had attacked me. Edward and Bella had disturbed my coven and they had run off, leaving the young couple to quite literally pick up the pieces. They had called Carlisle to help them, and he had somehow acquired human blood. That part is a puzzle – they won't hurt humans, so where did the blood come from? Carlisle told me, before we set off, that he had noticed a definite acceleration of my healing after each feed, and was confident that more blood was all that was needed to finish repairing the damage around my throat and start restoring my strength.

In the meantime, I was to remain their guest for as long as my recuperation lasted, and we could discuss the long term at a later date. I did not feel able to tell them that I had no long term plans – in fact, I tried to leave the moment we exited the lodge. While Edward led the way, Bella walking in front of me and Esme just behind, I stumbled along slightly unsteadily between them. As we reached the tree-line, I tried to make a break for it, but I fell after just a few paces, too weak to even walk unaided. Edward, having heard my intention, I was sure, simply picked me up without a word, and set me on my feet next to Esme, so that she could support me the rest of the way here.

A cool, autumnal breeze whispers through the meadow, picking up the first fall leaves and swirling them around me in an eddy. I stiffen as I catch the scent it carries; at the same time, the bushes behind me rustle, and a young doe staggers into the clearing coming to stand just yards from me, her eyes wide with fear. In the moonlight, the bite mark on her flank glistens silver; in that moment I realise either Bella or Edward have injured her to slow her down then sent her my way. Until now, I had somehow harboured the hope they would send human prey my way, but instinct takes over and I pounce, sinking my own teeth into the throbbing artery at the base of her neck.

It is over in seconds; the poor creature becomes still apart from the spasmodic twitching of her hind-quarters, which slows then ceases altogether. For the briefest of moments, I feel relief at having my thirst assuaged, then the pain hits, a white hot bolt through my throat. For several long seconds, I writhe silently, trying not to call attention to my suffering. At last the pain begins to ease, and I lay my head against the doe's still-warm side, panting slightly. A small groan escapes my lips, hoarse and rasping, and my breath catches – is my voice returning?

I have barely begun to ponder the meaning of this development when the undergrowth is disturbed again, more loudly, and a much larger, more mature doe bursts through. Somehow I manage to pounce again, and feed greedily. Once more, the fresh blood brings on another spike of pain, but this time I'm expecting it, and push my face into the belly of my victim to suppress my cries. It is in this state that Jasper finds me when he jogs into the meadow, having decided to join our hunt.

I see him clearly for the first time, and shrink back in horror. I have met his kind before – the scarring and pitting on his face and arms, the obvious bite marks criss-crossing his throat, accentuated by the silver light, giving him away – and waste no time in drawing myself up into a defensive crouch, snarling warningly at him. His own eyes widen in surprise, then he steps towards me, his arms reaching out to grab me. But he gets no closer. I _flex_ my mind, and he is thrown backwards, hitting a large pine tree with a deafening crack. Behind me, Edward crashes through the trees, and I _flex_ again, sending him tumbling back into the undergrowth. Then I am up and running, my only thought to escape before my strength gives out.

I can hear both vampires gaining behind me as I run blindly on. I have no idea which way I'm running, so my breath whooshes out with a surprised "Oof!" as I collide with Esme and we fall to the ground in a heap together. She barely has time to get her arms around me before Jasper and Edward are upon us, Bella just behind.

"What on God's Earth did you just do?" Edward roars, pulling up short when he sees Esme stiffen, her arms surrounding me protectively.

"Boys, what has gotten into you?" Esme demands, as I glare, panting, between Edward and the fiend. Do they not see what they have here? The danger we are all in?

"Bella, don't shield," Edward commands, "I need to hear."

I turn my attention back to Jasper as he takes a step towards me.

"Stay back," I croak, "I know what you are!"

A look of hurt flashes across his face which he quickly suppresses. But instead of attacking, he lowers his eyes and relaxes his arms non-threateningly. At the same time, a strange sense of calm begins to wash over me. Despite the danger, despite my terror at encountering such a creature when I thought they were all gone, wiped out by the Volturi over a century ago, I begin to feel sleepy and relaxed. And the more I fight it, the stronger the sensation becomes. The others must be feeling it too, because their own defensive postures begin to relax.

"Oh, my goodness, nobody move!" We all whip our heads round at Alice's approach.

"Grace, you silly thing," she admonishes, "Jasper wasn't going to hurt you! He isn't what you think. Well, he was…" her eyes flicker to Edward's, and understanding dawns across his face.

"You've met newborn armies before?" he guesses.

I nod, too confused to speak. This creature has clearly been the General of such an army; the most deadly of all vampires I have ever encountered, and yet these strange, gentle people allow him among them like a brother. I turn back to stare balefully at Jasper.

"They destroyed the only family I ever had," I tell the others in a hoarse whisper, my eyes not leaving Jasper.

"I'm sorry," Jasper replies. "I didn't mean to alarm you. You were in pain, I thought I could help…" The calmness seems to be coming off him in waves. I want to believe him, want to trust…

"That doesn't explain what Grace just did," Edward presses.

I think it might be easier to show them, so I_ flex_ gently, and a pile of twigs and leaves lift, hovering in the air in front of us. I make them eddy and swirl for a moment, then lower them once more to the ground.

"Wow," Bella breathes. Edward whistles.

"Telekinesis? That's some talent," Jasper says, impressed.

"Carlisle will be fascinated," Edward agrees.

"But with a defence like that, how did you manage to get attacked before?" Jasper wants to know.

I just shrug at him. But the truth is, I was caught completely off guard, lost to the pleasure of the feed, or they would not have got the better of me. I'm proud that this Newborn General had been unable to surprise me in the same way – I've learnt my lesson, never to drop one's guard.

"Back up a minute," Edward says to Jasper, suddenly, "what do you mean, she was in pain?"

His eyes move back to mine, and I have the feeling he is trying to read me. He really has to stop doing that – there is so much I don't him to know. So I let him have it; the memory of the sudden spike in pain around my neck after the feed. To my satisfaction, he staggers back immediately. Keep out! I think, as hard as I can.

Taking hold of my hand, Esme rises to her feet, lifting me with her. She seems oblivious to the silent exchange between Edward and myself.

"Well, my little bundle of surprises," she says, addressing me. "I think we need one more feed, then we should get back. It's time you told us a little about yourself."


	3. Chapter 3 Nate

**_3. Nate_**

"Carlisle asked earlier, why it never occurred to me to abstain from human blood, when I learned I could exist just as well on animal blood," I begin, looking round at the assembled party, who simply wait, expectantly. My voice is weak, barely a whisper. It is still dark outside, and the cosy living room is lit by a single standard lamp, but that's ample light for us. I'm wedged between Esme and Alice on a wide, overstuffed couch. Jasper sits on Alice's other side, while Carlisle perches on the arm, next to Esme. Opposite, Edward and Bella occupy the only armchair. Normally, I would find a crowd like this threatening, would feel trapped in such a small room, but Jasper exerts such a calm influence, I find myself not minding so much.

"Well, I simply never viewed them the same way you do. You have such a sentimental view of them, an unnecessary concern for their souls, I think. To me, they are no different to the other animals. When you take down a doe, do you not worry whether she had a fawn dependent upon her, who would surely now be doomed; do their lives not have the same worth? Are some animals not rare, while humans are plentiful? But we are what we are, and when I am thirsty I feed on whatever blood is available to me. Like all – well, most – of our kind, I find human blood vastly preferable, but towns attract other vampires, and I am too small and vulnerable at the best of times to mingle freely with our kind, so I generally remain in the mountains, feeding mostly on animals and the occasional lone traveller. Sometimes, I become lonely, and will join a coven, a small one, for a short time. I am careful who I join with, but I often get it wrong – hence my current predicament."

I look around again, catching Bella's eye, who asks,

"How old were you, exactly, when you were changed? I thought you were an Immortal Child – that that was why you had been attacked – but Edward said no, you would have been considered near enough to adulthood in your time."

"That's true," I agree. My voice is quiet and husky, not at all returned to strength yet, and it sounds strange in my ears.

"I was nearly fourteen," I explain, in answer to her question. The others look surprised – I appear small and underdeveloped, and I am often taken for a child of only ten or eleven. It's clear my hosts have made the same assumption.

"My human life was short and brutal," I continue. "I was born a slave in the cotton plantations somewhere in the south. I'm not sure where – I was unaware of my geography at the time - but I know it was somewhere in Louisiana. My kind were regarded as little more than live-stock, bred and bought and sold like cattle. I was born early and very tiny. The Master did not expect me to live, and took me from my mother immediately, placing me in the care of his daughter, who had been known to take runts from their sow's litters and nurture them to a decent weight. Just like a runt, I was now her pet, and my survival or otherwise would have no consequence in the scheme of things. My mother was set back to work only hours after my birth – there was cotton to harvest ahead of storm season, so I'm told – but she never stopped bleeding and died a few days later. I never knew her, and never knew who, among my fellow slaves, had been my father either. He chose not to make himself known to me.

"The Master's daughter, Eloisa, named me Grace, but to everybody else, I was just The Runt. She kept me until I was nearly six, then she began courting the son of a neighbouring plantation owner, and she was encouraged to set aside childish things, myself included. So I was returned to the bosom of my brethren, with whom I now had nothing in common except the colour of my skin. Eloisa had taught me to speak proper English, and I had the vocabulary and manners of a true Southern Belle, while my brothers and sisters spoke exotic languages from far away, using Creole as their common tongue. They knew and whispered the old religions, I knew only Christianity until that point. It was a tradition among the slaves of our plantation to secretly give their children an African name in addition to the one chosen by the Master – I had been given no such name, and nor was one offered me. My diminutive stature went against me from the start – if daily yields were down, I was blamed as the weak link. On cold winter nights, when the women and children huddled together in the draughty shed, I was left on the edge, shivering and alone.

"Once Eloisa left to get married, nobody even called me Grace anymore. I became known as simply The Runt. Every undesirable and dangerous job came my way – if a knotty boll jammed our ancient cotton-gin, The Runt had to crawl in to clear it. When the Master's favourite dog fell into the latrine, The Runt was thrown in to get him out. Nobody helped me out afterwards – I nearly drowned that day, then was wracked for days afterwards by a terrible sickness.

"When I was about eleven, a wonderful ray of light came into my life, called Nate. The Master's ancient stable-hand, inherited from his father, had a stroke and was too weak to work, so Nate was bought from another plantation. He was known to have a gift with horses, and he did not disappoint. When the old stable-hand died, Nate took up his lodgings in the stable. Mucking out the sty next to the stable was one of my morning duties, and for several weeks, he would pause in his own work to watch me.

"Then, one day, he spoke to me. All he did was ask my real name, and reward my shy response with a kind smile, but from that moment, I was head-over-heels in love. His fondness for me soon became apparent, too – he was, after all, only three or four years older than me – and we became fast friends. That hour or so that I spent every morning mucking out became a life-line to me. Sometimes, at night, I would sneak out of the women's shed and make my way over to the stables. We would lay together in the hay-loft and talk together. Nothing untoward ever happened – this was the eighteen hundreds – but Nate was a great dreamer, and he laid out his plans for us. As a talented stable-hand, his work often impressed visitors to the plantation – he could calm a stressed beast in seconds, remove foreign bodies from sore hooves in a heart-beat, and locate and soothe any source of lameness – regularly earning a penny from the grateful rider, which he stowed religiously.

"A change was coming, he would tell me. In the north, there was whispering that slavery was not such an acceptable state of affairs; there were white men who believed that human beings, even black ones, were not live-stock. And there was talk of unrest, and acts going through congress to make slavery unlawful. One day, he promised me, we would have our freedom. Either it would be granted from the north, or he would buy it with his savings. Either way, he would take me away, marry me, and we would find paid work with some rich gentleman farmer in the north. He would tend the animals, I would work the kitchen, and our children would be born to freedom."

I pause, savouring the vague, human memory of his warm, musky arms around me, his breath tickling my ear as he wove his fantasies in his gentle, gravelly Creole. I glance at Edward, suddenly conscious he might see my memories. He meets my eye and blinks slowly once – he will not betray these private thoughts.

"Of course, none of this came to pass," I go on. "I was approaching my teen years, and the Master was waiting for me to reach woman-hood, when I could be sold to another plantation."

I remember how, like live-stock, the local planters liked to keep our gene-pool carefully varied. Since the trade routes with Africa had been suspended, and fresh slaves illegal and therefore hard to come by, they managed their 'stock' by selling the female children when they reached puberty. I don't know my exact birth date, and there's a simple reason for that. The date was left blank on female birth certificates on our plantation. The Master would wait for our first menses; that date was recorded on the birth certificate, counted back sixteen years. Then we would be sold, as a sixteen year old, as a wife for another slave on another farm. In that way, girls as young as thirteen were becoming mothers. I have no idea whether this was a wide-spread practice, but it was the fate awaiting me, if other things hadn't intervened.

"But the Master was becoming impatient," I continue. "I reached thirteen, still with the stature of a child, not a developing woman, then my fourteenth was fast approaching, and still nothing. He was beginning to think I would be barren and therefore useless – he would be unable to sell me, and I would be too small to carry out the work of the other women. I did not like the way he glowered at me when he watched me work. In the past, unsatisfactory workers had mysteriously disappeared; lame slaves had unexpectedly died; I became afraid a similar end was planned for me. After all, a runt pig, if it could be nurtured to a couple of months old, made for a small but tasty meal. I could not even be of that much use, it seemed. The safest thing for me, I decided, was to be wherever the Master was not."

For a few moments I fall silent, the vaguely remembered human fears coming back to me. The strongest of them involves Nate. It's a memory too painful and too private to share, especially not with Edward, so I picture a wall as he has instructed me. But to make sure he keeps to his side of the bargain, I picture razor-wire on top, an un-subtle reminder of the white hot pain awaiting him if he does pry. I meet his eyes, and he blinks slowly again. Message received and understood.

I remember how terrified I was that some terrible 'accident' would befall me, or worse, that the Master would sell me even though I was too small, and I would be taken from Nate and put in the hands of some stranger. I couldn't stomach the thought of any man but him being my husband. While the other women and children slept, I tossed and turned and worried until I could bear it no longer and crept from the shed in search of Nate.

It was very late, really the small hours of the morning, and he was soundly asleep as I crawled into the hay beside him, crying silently. After a while, he awoke. Wordlessly, he wiped my tears away and drew me into his arms. I don't know why, we had always been so chaste, but suddenly, he was kissing me hungrily, and I responded with equal fervour. When we broke apart, I asked him what it would be like, to be given to a husband. For a long moment he just stared, horror-struck, then understanding seemed to dawn in his eyes. He pulled me closer and pushed his face into my shoulder. His breath became ragged, and I realised he was crying, too.

This had been our last night together, sobbing in each other's arms, the un-nameable fear hanging silently over us.

I come back to myself, and glance around the room. The others are waiting patiently for me to continue. It's time to tell them how I became a vampire. After all, hiding from one fate was what had led me to the other.

"It was harvest time again, and after mucking out duties, I went down to join the others, picking cotton."

I needed to stay as far from the Master as I could, so I made my way down through the rows so that I was furthest from the scales, where the white workers weighed and bagged and tallied our haul under the Master's watchful eye. Then Saul and Joseph, two burly, taciturn slaves, would heave the bags onto the cart. When the cart was full, it would be Nate's job to hitch up the two cart-horses and lead them to the cotton-gin. Usually, I would find some excuse to approach the scales when Nate arrived, but not today. I saw him scan the field for me, and kept my head down. I could not afford to draw attention to myself while the Master was there beside him.

"As always, we had a race against time – the rains were coming and the crop had to be in, so we worked well into the night, the cotton bolls gleaming white in the moonlight. The row I was in would have been a poor choice ordinarily – it had already been worked once, so all the bolls within easy reach were gone, and I was on my knees, reaching far in for the lower bolls that taller eyes had missed. My knees were raw on the stony ground, my back ached from stretching, my arms were scratched and bleeding, but I continued feverishly, a silent prayer on my lips that I was far from the Master's eye and should be spared whatever horrors he had in store for me.

"And that was when he came – a pale, slim stranger with translucent skin and a gentle, musical voice."

I pause and sigh.

"You know what happened next – I should have screamed and run back to the others, but his voice captivated me, and I stood transfixed as he appeared to glide down the row toward me. He placed his cold hand on my cheek and I shuddered, but his cool, sweet breath washed over me, rendering me completely helpless so that when he swept me up in his arms and began to run, I fell into a stupor, powerless to resist.

"He took me far into the hills to a disused hut. I know now that he bit me, injected me with his venom and left me. But at the time, all I knew was the pain and fear. When I opened my eyes to my new existence, he was gone.

"I don't know how, maybe I subconsciously followed my own trail, but I found my way back to the plantation. Nate was not there, so I crept into the stables and up into the hay-loft to wait for him. It was dark; surely he would be back soon to sleep. The horses seemed agitated beneath me, and I wondered what was wrong with them. They smelt funny, and I couldn't understand why, but that fragrance was making me unbearably thirsty.

"Then Nate entered, with the Master just behind him, looking for me. I listened to their conversation while I hid in the loft above.

"Non, Met," Nate was saying, his voice more beautiful to me than ever. "Grace is not here. She is good girl. Som-tin bad hap-pen to her, I know it."

"Well, if I find she's hidin' down here with you, you'll both get a whuppin,' do I make myself clear?" the Master answered.

"Wi, Met." _Yes, Master._

"And git those horses quiet!" I noted Nate's baleful scowl at the Master's retreating back – he clearly suspected the Master was the reason for my disappearance. Nate would certainly have thought the Master was the cause of the 'som-tin bad.' Then he was alone, and - "

I pause again, remembering how I had swept down the stairs, planning to throw myself into his arms and beg for his help. His relieved expression as I emerged from the hay turned to one of disbelief then horror, for the moment I got to within a few feet of him, his scent struck me a physical blow, a thirst erupting in my throat the like of which I had never before experienced. Before I even knew what was happening, I fell upon my Nate and drank him dry.

My eyes meet Edward's again, and his expression seems to match my own agony. I glance at Bella, wondering how he had managed to keep her from the same fate. He grimaces at me in response.

Esme pats my leg, soothingly. "You fed, didn't you?" she whispers. "You couldn't help it. You were alone; you had no idea what you had become."

"But he was the one person who would have helped me, and now he lay dead in my arms," I tell her. "Barely aware of my new strength, I cradled him like a baby to my chest and bore him away across the fields and back into the hills. All the time, I sobbed and wailed and cursed the ancient spirits, especially Baron Samedi and Legba, who had sent the strange white Bokor – our name for a Voodoo priest - to make me into a Zombie and have me commit this terrible evil, maybe as a punishment for not knowing my ancestors and revering them as I should. Then I cursed the Christian God and the very ground His Son had walked upon, for surely they should have protected me from this demon?

"At last I was spent, and I lay under a tree, shielded by long tendrils of Spanish moss, still hugging Nate's body, and closed my eyes, awaiting sleep that never came. The sun was rising in the east when I came to the decision that I must kill myself to be free of the Bokor's power. Then I would lie next to Nate as my life ebbed, and hope for one last glimpse of his beautiful soul and the chance to beg his forgiveness before the Devil took me.

"I felt around for the sharpest flint I could find, and, steeling myself against the pain, drew it along my inner arm from my elbow to my wrist. To my amazement, my flesh did not yield – there was no pain, no blood, not even a scratch!

"I rummaged through Nate's clothing and found the small blade he kept and plunged it into my stomach. I felt the pressure of the blade, and pushed with all my might, but it could not puncture my skin. By now the sun was high in the sky, and I stepped out from the shade of the tree to rail at it – and stopped to stare in wonder, for of course, my skin reflected the sun as though I were bathed in gold-dust.

"For a long time, I was hypnotised by my own beauty and could not move. Then, a movement in the corner of my eye broke the spell, and I saw, to my horror, that the Master on horse-back, with Saul and Joseph running alongside, were heading straight for me. They must have seen the gleam in the distance and come to investigate. I tried to shrink back under the shade of the tree, but it was too late. The two burly slaves charged me with a roar of triumph, but I was too strong for them. As they bore me aloft, I placed my hands one on each head and cracked them together, rendering them unconscious. The horse shied and threw the Master, but I was barely aware of him until I had finished feeding on the other two. His spine was broken, so he could not get away from me. He saw what I did to his two best slaves, knew what was coming for him, but he was courageous and showed no fear. When I dropped Joseph's corpse on top of Saul's, and turned my attention to him, he said, 'I'll be waiting for you in Hell. The Devil's got nothin' on what I got planned for you, girl.'

"He didn't get a chance to elaborate, for, in the grip of blood frenzy, I fell upon him too, and sent him the same way as the others. Then, I sat and wept again, huge tearless sobs, for I knew that suicide was no longer an option for me – I was far too afraid of death now that I knew who was waiting for me. I feared the Master far more than I did the Devil. I crawled back under the tree and tried to cuddle against Nate but it was no use – in the heat of the day, his body had begun to decay. To my new heightened senses, the smell quickly became unbearable, and I knew he was truly gone.

"I decided to bury Nate and the other slaves under the tree. I found a rock and began to dig. With my new-found strength, this was no more difficult than a spade through newly-ploughed soil, and I soon had three graves prepared. I laid Saul and Joseph first, then took Nate into my arms one last time before I laid him to rest. Once they were properly interred, I found a small, straggly handful of wild flowers to place over Nate's mound. I remained by his side until darkness fell then I turned away for the final time and walked into the night, dragging the Master's body behind me for a short distance before leaving it for the coyotes.

"I wandered aimlessly for hours before I came to rest beneath a tree. I was lost, afraid, grieving and the most alone I had ever been when the Bokor at last came upon me. At first, his face was gentle and full of concern. He had been so worried when he returned to the hut and found me missing, he said. He had feared for my safety, wandering alone and unprotected, and was so relieved to find me safe. I didn't have the will left to run, so I allowed him to approach, place his hands on the sides of my face and gaze into my eyes.

'I see you have already learned how to feed,' he told me.

'I couldn't help it,' I sobbed.

'It's all right,' he soothed, 'it's your nature now. You are a hunter like me; man is your prey and his blood is your sustenance.' He put his arms around me and drew me to him.

'Am I not undead then?' I asked. In that moment, cradled in his arms with his sweet scent and his perfect marble skin and his beautiful, angelic voice, I began to doubt that he could be the witch I had thought him to be. Bokors, for all their magic, were human after all, invoking the spirits to do their will. This creature seemed far more ethereal.

'My name is Reuben,' he informed me. 'I am a vampire. Do you know what that is?' I shook my head. 'We are children of the night. We possess superior speed, strength, intellect – '

'We?' I interrupted. 'Who else is there?'

'Well, there's you. I have created you. You are a vampire, like me. And we have a family – a brother - I will take you to him when you are ready.'

'No,' I whispered, shaking my head. 'I don't want to be like you. I don't want to join your family. Why did you do this?'

Reuben sounded genuinely hurt by my response.

'I have given you a great gift,' he told me firmly. 'I do not give my gift lightly. You will come with me, I will teach you.'

'But I don't understand,' I insisted. 'I'm just a slave. Not even a good slave – they call me The Runt. Why choose me for this so-called 'gift' of yours?'

'You're not a slave now. You're free. You'll live with us and be part of our family.'

"I pondered this for several moments. This Reuben, this vampire, whatever that meant – remember, I understood only God and the Devil, and the spirit world the Creoles among us spoke of – had set me free. But at what cost? I had murdered the one person who had ever promised me freedom. My dream of freedom had been entirely dependent upon Nate being there with me. Without him, it was worthless – how could this Reuben claim I was free, without my Nate by my side? And something further occurred to me. His 'gift' was to blame – he had made me this blood-drinking creature – he had caused Nate's death as surely as if I _had_ been a Zombie and he my controlling Bokor!

"Then the most terrible rage overcame me, the like of which I had never before experienced. I turned on Reuben, and, snarling like some wild animal, I crushed his skull to dust in my hands."

I look around at the others, suddenly worried I have said too much.

"What's the matter?" Carlisle asks me. When I don't answer straight away, he looks at Edward.

"It's okay, Grace," Edward says. "We're not here to judge you."

"I just told you I killed one of our kind."

Jasper leans across Alice, and to my astonishment, he winks at me!

"I've killed hundreds! And they didn't all have it coming like this Reuben."

"What happened then?" Alice presses, after giving her mate a disapproving frown.

"Well, not much. I fled, leaving his twitching, headless body behind me. I ran even deeper into the hills and for many months all I did was to hide by day and wander by night, too mad with grief to have any kind of plan. It was during this time, when I hadn't encountered a human for weeks and the thirst was becoming unbearable, that a mountain lion attacked me. Naturally, I defended myself, and that was when I learned that human blood was not the only sustenance available."

By now, my voice has faded to almost nothing, and my throat is hoarse and quite painful. I also feel a strange, drooping sensation that I can't explain, even to myself. It's as though I can't hold my head up any more, so I lay it against Esme's shoulder and close my eyes. I hear the sofa creak, and Carlisle's hands are over my wrists.

"Grace? Whatever's the matter?"

I lift my head, force my eyes open and find myself staring straight into his face, which is frowning with concern. He caresses my cheek and feels my forehead as though trying to take my temperature.

"She's tired," Jasper announces, sounding surprised.

Yes. Tired. That sounds about right. It's not something vampires should feel though. We never weaken, never tire, never sleep. This tiredness is a worrying development. What's wrong with me?

Carlisle looks thoughtful, then sets my head back against Esme's shoulder.

"I think that's enough story-telling for now," he decides. "You're still healing. You clearly need more rest to allow that to happen. You stay here with Esme, Edward and I will make your room ready."

"I'll come, too," Alice announces, jumping up.

When they are gone, Esme shifts, and I find myself being laid across her lap with my head cradled on her left arm. Jasper lifts my feet onto the sofa. He squeezes my ankle gently, then, murmuring something about helping Alice and not letting her go overboard, he's gone.

"Can you tell me one more thing?" asks Bella, from the arm-chair.

"Mmm?"

"Why did you bury Saul and Joseph? Why not leave them out for the coyotes like your Master? It's not as though they ever showed you any kindness."

"Can't you guess?" Esme answers for me. "One of those men may have been her father."


	4. Chapter 4 Talents and Scars

**_4. Talents and Scars_**

All too soon, the others are back, and Esme helps me to my feet. Numbly, I traipse alongside her as she gives me the official 'tour' of the house. The huge kitchen with its long dining table, the den and the parlour of the ground floor pass me in a blur then we are on the first floor. Here is the study which had been my sick-room; another room leading off is the library. This floor holds two more bedrooms with en-suites. Bella and Edward have occupied the master, having expected to be here alone on a sort of second honeymoon. Esme and Carlisle set up home in the other when they arrived after Edward's call. Then there is another flight of stairs, leading to a much smaller landing, with only two doors leading from it. To the left is a small room with a surprisingly large en-suite which has been claimed by Alice. That leaves a small box room to the right, clearly intended for my use. I begin to feel anxious. There are now two flights of stairs between me and the closest external door. The master bedroom, directly below the box room, has French doors leading onto a balcony. A tree grows against the house on Alice's side.

"I'm sorry," Esme says, misreading the dismay on my face. "This is the only room left for a couple of days. And you'll have to share Alice's en-suite."

I think for a moment – I have noticed a small window in that bathroom, probably non-opening, but one punch would deal with that even in my weakened state, then the tree is within easy reach. I open the door to the box room, and peer inside. They have placed a small folding cot in there for me to rest on with a plain bedside table and matching wardrobe. There's no room for anything else. I note the window, narrow but serviceable, and above me, a hatch offering access to the loft space.

"It's perfect, thank you," I whisper, doing my best to give her a smile.

"We'll give you a moment to settle in, then," Esme replies, mollified, and I am alone at last.

Silently, I move to the window, undo the latch, and try to open it. The wood is slightly swollen, and it threatens to jam, but I get it moving with a good jiggle. Peering out, I see that I could drop onto the balcony below, then run almost to the end of the building before dropping to the ground. Of course, if need be, I could leap from the window where I now stand. A two floor drop is not so very high for our kind. I open and close it a few times, until the window moves easily within the frame.

Next, I turn my attention to the hatch. I jump up, allowing my fingers to hit the board and dislodge it. On my second jump, my fingers close over the now exposed rim and I hang for a moment, testing my strength. Then, I let go with one hand to push the board clear. My strength lets me down momentarily and I drop back to the floor, making a louder bump than I would have liked. I freeze, listening intently, worried that the others have heard me. Sure enough, I hear Bella's voice in the room below.

"What on Earth is she _doing _up there?"

"Looking for exits and hiding places," Edward's voice replies, almost too low to hear.

"Does she not trust us?"

"Don't take it personally. I don't think she would be able to trust _anybody _right now."

Well, just because he knows what I am up to, doesn't mean I can stop. I jump for the hatch once more, and as my hands find purchase on the rim, I haul myself up and over, landing almost nimbly in a crouch with one foot each side of the hatch.

The loft is not floored. Around me there is a network of beams holding up the ceiling beneath. In between the beams, the lagging lies exposed to view. Some beams have boxes and crates balanced on them. Above me, the roof slopes sharply towards the apex. It is steep and high, following a European pattern designed to discourage snow settling. This means that although the space immediately above me is too low to stand, a single step forward, onto the next beam, allows me to straighten from my crouch to my full height. I note with grim satisfaction that men as tall as Edward or Jasper would need at least two more paces before they could stand at full height. Near one end of the loft stands the brick chimney breast, and behind it I find exactly what I'm looking for – a crawl space with only one way in or out. If it comes down to it, if I can't escape the building, here is an enclosed space from which I could use my unique ability to repel attack. Such hiding places have served me well in the past.

I return to the box room, lowering myself carefully through the hatch and wiggling the board back until it remains ajar a couple of inches. This will allow me to get my fingers over the rim and enter the loft in a single bound.

Satisfied, I let myself out of the room the conventional way, and cross the landing to tap on Alice's door. It opens immediately, as though she has been expecting me.

"Oh, my, we have been busy," she comments, reaching to pull a bit of dusty cobweb from my hair. I look past her into the room. There is a chaise-longue in front of the wide picture-window, but it is completely obscured by the clothes festooned all over it. The other furniture in the room consists of a white lattice-work armoire with matching chest of drawers, and a disproportionately long dressing table. It is as crowded as the chaise-longue, but littered instead by every conceivable manner of cosmetics. Jasper leans against the armoire, looking between me and the clothes with a wry smile.

"These are for you," Alice explains. "You can pick out what you want to wear after your shower, and we'll pop the rest into your room for you."

I lock eyes with Jasper. _Help me_, I mouth.

"And spoil Alice's fun?" he grins, "I wouldn't dare!"

So I allow myself to be led forward. Picking an outfit isn't all that hard after all – I simply lay my hand on something and watch Alice's reaction. Some dungarees – a small shake of the head. A floral blouse – a shrug. A strappy pink sun dress – a nod. Then I swiftly snag the dungarees and blouse and dash into the bathroom, shutting the door on Alice's affronted gasp and Jasper's low guffaw.

Setting the clothes on top of the linen basket, I quickly check the tiny window. It's a non-opening sealed unit, circular like a ship's porthole, but I'm confident it will break easily and I'm more than slender enough to slip through.

Meanwhile, I think I will take a bath instead of a shower. This is an old-fashioned bathroom; originally it would have only contained the bath, but somebody has since added a shower unit and a curtain rail over the bath.

Decision made, I drop the black chinos I am wearing to the floor and pull the sweater over my head so that I stand in just the child's vest-and-panties set that someone must have put me in while I was incapacitated. I turn toward the bath with the intention of turning the taps on, but I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror set into the back of the door and gasp, aghast at what I see.

In a flash, the door is open and Alice is at my side.

"Sssh, it's okay, it's not as bad as it looks," she tries to soothe, as the door swings shut and I take in the full horror before me once more. All around my throat are raised, pink scars, contrasting alarmingly against my dark skin. Mostly they circle like some grisly necklace, but one extends up my throat to my right ear and down to disappear under the vest. My left shoulder, right elbow and both legs bear similar scarring. The most horrendous scars are those each side of my mouth, from the corners of my lips along my jaw almost to my ears. It is as though somebody tried to rip my lower jaw off. I look like some ghastly, badly constructed marionette, with a mouth ripped into the fabric of the face.

I begin to gasp, a full-scale panic attack coming on, as I am once more confronted with the extent of my injuries.

"Jasper, we need you," Alice whispers, and he's here, his hands pressed to my face, his eyes trying to bore into mine, but I cannot tear my eyes away from the creature in the mirror. He blows sharply into my face and my breath catches in surprise. My eyes meet his and at once, waves of calm begin to wash over me.

"That's it, breathe slowly now, with me," he is saying, gently, still holding my face with both his hands. He turns me slightly so that I am no longer able to see the mirror. "Really, it's not that bad. Those scars will fade quickly. I've seen much worse." I try to shake my head, but he is holding me too firmly. Then he lowers one hand and begins to undo the buttons of his shirt.

"Look," he instructs me, as his shirt drops to the floor. I look down almost involuntarily – it is hard not to obey Jasper. If I had thought his face and arms shocking in the meadow, they are as nothing compared to his torso. Not one inch of him is unscarred. He is covered; face, neck, arms and torso, in a lattice-work of bite marks. But they aren't his only injuries. Like me, his neck and his other joints bear the marks of attempts to dismember him just as I have been. One particular scar, running around his right shoulder from his neck, past his collar bone, down his chest and disappearing round his rib-cage to the back, makes me think his attacker had been successful.

I raise a hand, wanting to touch, then pull it back, shyly. Smiling gently, still exuding calm, he catches my hand and places it on his chest. Emboldened by this tacit permission, I trace my fingers delicately along the big scar, and feel the lumps and bumps of the overlapping bite marks. I follow the line up to his neck, and when he doesn't flinch, probe carefully a ragged scar along his jaw-line. With my other hand, I feel the scars surrounding my own neck. His scars are old and hardened, mine are still quite raw to the touch. Jasper gently takes my hand from my neck, and pulls me into a delicate embrace.

"Did these hurt dreadfully?" I ask him.

"Sometimes. But I always healed, and you will, too. Look." He turns us both so that we are side by side in the mirror. "You don't look bad at all next to me, do you? And those scars will fade, be a lot less noticeable over time."

Alice stands behind me and her eyes meet Jasper's in the mirror.

"You'll always look beautiful to me," she tells him, and for a moment, in his delighted smile, I can see exactly what she means.

I can't remember the last time I've had a hot bath. Unable to decipher the frightening array of lotions and potions Alice seems to have amassed on every available surface, I leave the water plain. I fill the tub as deep as it can go, then lie completely submerged. As I gently exhale all the air from my lungs, I feel the pent-up tension melting away. Of course, Jasper is only in the next room, and I wonder whether he has something to do with it. I have never before met somebody with such a naturally calming presence as he has.

I remain, completely motionless, not even coming up for air for a very long time. I had planned to lie down to rest on the cot in my room for a while, but this is so much nicer. The water grows cold, but that doesn't trouble my onyx-like flesh at all.

After an age, there is a gentle tap on the door, and I reluctantly return to the surface, mentally as well as literally. My lungs gratefully draw air with a loud gasp and I open my eyes to find Alice staring down at me. I quickly slide myself up into a sitting position, my knees drawn to my chest, arms hugging them defensively.

"Oh, I _am _sorry," she trills, looking completely unabashed. "It didn't occur to me you'd be so shy." I hear Jasper's chuckle from the next room. When Alice shows no sign of turning away or giving me any privacy, I _flex _gently, causing the shower curtain to draw across, cutting her from view.

"I'll be out in five minutes," I tell her pointedly. I pull the plug with my big toe and listen until I hear the door open and close once more. Until then, I haven't heard a single foot-fall or swish of clothing - I make a mental note that Alice can move silently, even to keen vampire ears. I do not like being surprised like that, and she is lucky I didn't throw her.

Then I stand, and stare once more at the array of cosmetics, trying to select a soap I could shower off with. There is one tiny shelf under the shower-head containing a simple two-in-one shampoo and a single, tan coloured bar of soap. Relieved, I turned on the shower and grab them.

As promised, five minutes later, I stand in front of Alice in her room, cleaned, dressed, and rubbing my hair with a towel.

"Well, you smell…nice," she announces. My eyes meet Jasper's, and I realise the soap and shampoo are probably his. I hope I haven't committed some sort of faux pas, or that the others don't think my fragrance inappropriately…masculine.

"Um, I hope you don't mind," Alice begins, more coyly. "But I've never styled um, _African _hair before…"

I frown, not sure what exactly she's trying to ask me. I shrug, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Alice wants to put your hair in corn-rows," Jasper explains, his growing amusement plain in his smile. Despite my instinct to be wary, I am starting to like him.

"Please? I have all the right equipment ready." She indicates the chaise-longue. Sure enough, the pile of clothes has gone now, replaced by a small tray containing hair oil and a steel comb with long, lethal looking tines.

"I'm not a dolly…" I begin, uncertainly.

"Oh, I know! Please don't be offended – I do this sort of thing for all my girlfriends – just ask Bella. Please say yes – oh good, you _are _going to let me!"

And before I am even aware I have consented, I find myself perched on the edge of the chaise-longue, Alice's hands working deftly through my hair.

When we return to the ground floor, the others are gathered in the dining room, around the long table. Carlisle is just hanging up the phone. They all look around as I enter behind Alice and Jasper. Esme smiles warmly as she takes in my clean, groomed appearance.

"Oh, you're leaving us," Alice tells Carlisle, sadly.

"Tomorrow. That was work on the phone – they can't spare me any longer, I have a shift tomorrow night. I can't come back again until after the weekend."

I look between Alice and Carlisle, puzzled. We didn't hear his conversation; how does she know? Edward picks up on my confusion and smiles.

"Have you not noticed Alice's special little talent yet?" he asks me. "She sees the future."

"Oh." I'm not sure I believe him. "How does that work?"

"Well, the better she knows a person, the more accurate her predictions. She can sort of predict future decisions, mainly."

"So she can tell what somebody is _going to _think?" I ask, alarmed. That sounds worse than Edward's ability to read a person's current thoughts.

"What's in my future, then?" I ask Alice.

She frowns. "You won't stay," she says sadly. "We want you to, we'll do everything in our power to persuade you, but I don't think we'll succeed."

I stare at the floor, not wanting to allow my scepticism to show. That isn't a difficult prediction to make; with Edward's mind-reading abilities, I am sure they already know that escape is never far from my thoughts, that I have already made one failed bid for freedom. At the moment, my physical weakness is the only thing keeping me here.

"What other talents do you have?" I ask.

"Well," says Carlisle, "I think you've already experienced Jasper's. He influences mood. Very useful when a – situation – needs calming."

I nod, wondering which of my recent outbursts he might have been carefully avoiding mentioning.

"It's not just you," Edward says, quickly. "I've been known to have a quick temper – it's generally more controlled with Jasper around…"

Bella smiles indulgently at her husband.

"You make out like you're some old grump," she admonishes him. "You're a kitten, really." She turns to me. "I'm the most recent in our family to discover a talent," she tells me. "Even when I was human, I was the only person whose thoughts Edward couldn't read. My mind was completely silent to him. They continued to be silent after he changed me, and a friend of the family, when he met me, understood straight away why that was. I'm a shield."

That rings a vague bell – memories of Edward's voice; "_you have to shield her from me_," and Carlisle's; "_Bella, shield her so that you and Edward can hold her legs down_," both come to me through the fog of pain. What does it mean?

"Bella's mind is completely shielded from the outside world," Edward explains, answering my unspoken question, "which is useful, because we've encountered vampires who can attack the mind. But even better, she has learned to extend that shield around others. It came in useful when we found you, because your pain projected so powerfully in your thoughts, I couldn't bear to get near you to help. Bella shielded your mind from me."

"It was a little strange," Bella admits. "I'm used to shielding Edward from others, not the other way around!"

"And Carlisle?" I ask, looking across at him.

"None," he replies. "I'm just a regular old vampire!"

"Don't be so modest!" Esme scolds. "Carlisle is the kindest, most compassionate, smartest man I have ever met. He doesn't need other talents when he has all that!"

"And don't forget his amazing self control," adds Bella. "He works as a doctor; his ability to resist blood is so great. Just as well, because he had to patch me up a few times!"

"I want to learn more about your talent," Carlisle tells me. "I've not encountered anything quite the same before. How do you do it?"

I shrug.

"I just think about the thing I want to move," I reply simply. "Then my mind sort of _flexes_ like an extra muscle and the thing moves. I'll show you."

My talent isn't such an impressive thing, compared to the others. But it does make a nice party trick. With a gentle _flex _I lift a pretty blue and white ewer from the shelf next to the sink. I spin it round a few times before setting it delicately on the table in front of Esme. Another _flex _opens a drawer, and a set of steak knives dances out. I juggle them in the air for a while, spinning them higher and faster. Out of the corner of my eye, I become aware of Edward, regarding me shrewdly. I have the feeling he is assessing my talent, measuring the threat I pose with it. And mentally I kick myself. All those years of learning to use the talent, control it, _hide it_ to keep it safe from discovery, and here I am, flaunting it. How did I allow myself to be manipulated into revealing my secret like that?

In a sudden fit of pique, I fling the knives towards him. Of course, with his vampire reflexes, he ducks easily, and they come to a juddering halt embedded in the wooden garden door behind him. He looks round at them in shock, and turns back to me, glowering darkly. I just return his stare blankly. I hope he gets the message – I am not so weak and vulnerable as I look; if he wants to see me as a threat then threaten him I shall.

Immediately, Jasper is on his feet, his hands spread placatingly between us.

"It's fine, Jasper," Edward says coldly, "I'm not so easily provoked as all that." And he stalks from the room. With an apologetic shrug to the others and a glare for me, Bella follows.

Carlisle coughs politely, and I turn toward him.

"A word?" he requests.

Silently, I follow him up the stairs and into the study.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, when he doesn't speak straight away. "That was unspeakably rude of me."

"Edward has shown you nothing but kindness," Carlisle admonishes. He is watching something out of the window, not looking at me at all. "I really don't understand the animosity you have shown towards him."

"Pardon?"

"Did you think no one else would notice? He is far too much of a gentleman to complain, but I can see what you do to him. When you think he's looking at your thoughts unbidden, the pain you give him."

"Oh."

"You don't need to do that. Edward doesn't pry. He hears outer thoughts as clearly as if you speak them, but he doesn't go looking for what's underneath. He has far too much respect for other people's feelings."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that stops now. We understand your fearfulness. After what has just happened to you, we can't expect you to be able to trust anybody straight away. But you _will_ show us respect. Especially towards Edward. While I'm away, he will be taking care of you. He will keep you safe while you hunt – I don't think you understand how your injuries have affected you physically yet – and you will respond to his kindness in turn. Understood?"

"Wi, Met." I'm not sure what makes me revert to Creole in that moment – it is probably Carlisle's dressing down. He makes me feel so small, like I am The Runt again; awaiting the kick that generally follows harsh words. I keep my head bowed towards the floor, even when he turns back to me, my eyes prickling even though I have no tears to cry.

Carlisle steps toward me, and kneels in front of me, lifting my chin so that our eyes meet. Even kneeling, he's as tall as me.

"Don't say that," he says, his expression kindly once more. "No one here is your master. You will stay with us only as long as _you _want to."

I glance at the door, wondering if I dare test him again so soon. He pulls my face back to him.

"But I hope you will stay. I hope that you will accept our kindness in the spirit it is offered, at least until you have your health restored."

"I have to go tell Edward I'm sorry," I say, unable to respond to his wishes.

There is a creak on the floorboards on the landing outside the study.

"Edward already knows," Carlisle smiles.


	5. Chapter 5 Frankie and Johnny

**_5. Frankie and Johnny_**

I traipse quietly back down the stairs to rejoin the others, Edward a few paces ahead of me. I pretend not to be aware that he was eavesdropping. As I pass the open parlour door I pause abruptly. It shows how tired and preoccupied I had been earlier, that I hadn't noticed before, but there is a smart, modern upright piano against the back wall.

"Oh!" I exclaim. Edward sees through my mind what I'm looking at, and turns back to join me.

"Can you play?" he asks.

"I think so. We had a little spinet – I learned to play that quite proficiently. I learned to read music, and would give little concerts. Just to my parents. We didn't exactly keep company. Too much temptation for my young appetite!"

Of course, the others hear our exchange and are with us in a trice.

"Please play something!" Esme begs. I stare doubtfully at the broad keyboard and three foot pedals. The spinet had been small – just five and a half octaves – and there had been no pedals, just one small lever that meant it could be damped or undamped.

"Ignore the pedals," Edward advises. "Just give it a whirl."

So I sit on the stool, wriggle my fingers, and stare for a moment, trying to remember. It doesn't take long – vampires generally have excellent recall – and I begin to play a movement from one of Mozart's piano sonatas. When I am done, the others applaud politely, and I move away so Edward can take a turn. He treats us to something from the turn of the twentieth century, Debussy's Clair de Lune. I watch as he operates the pedals, using mostly the right one, which I realise is simply raising and lowering the dampers over the keys, giving control over resonance that my spinet had never had.

"Do you know that one?" Edward asks me when he is done.

"I heard it once. But my spinet – my home – my parents – were all long gone by the time that was written."

"Will you tell us about them?" Carlisle asks. I nod, feeling a strange desire to please him, to no longer be subject to his disapproval.

"It will explain – though not excuse – my reaction to Jasper when we were hunting before," I tell them.

"I spent many months just wandering, as I told you. My new-born strength, with which I had killed Reuben, had faded fast. Of course, I was still a thousand times stronger than any human, a hundred times stronger than the biggest grizzly, but it was as well I didn't encounter other vampires for I would not have matched them in strength, had they taken exception to me. Although I still couldn't understand what I was exactly, I had come to terms with what it meant, and I became more daring in my search for human blood, approaching small settlements to pick off unwary prey.

"It was in this way that I came across the two strangest looking people I had ever seen. I had heard of their kind, heard the white workers describe them after a travelling circus passed through once, so I knew their name – dwarves! Their clothes were bright like circus-folk, and they approached a camp-fire where three itinerant workers had set up for the night. Well, I had been watching that group for some hours, hoping one might move away and give me a quick meal, so this pair showing up was a bit of a complication. They danced and japed like clowns, but their accents were strange. The men laughed and clapped and threw bread to them – I doubt any of the men had a penny to offer – then suddenly, the pair fell upon the trio and I realised they were vampires! The woman had hold of the biggest male while the man took the other two by their throats, one in each hand, asphyxiating both easily.

"But instead of feeding, the woman looked straight into the bush where I was hiding.

'Come down here, little bambina,' she called. 'We have enough to share!'"

"Italians?" asks Carlisle, suddenly very interested.

"Yes. I was too thirsty to refuse, and they had such kind faces. The man passed me one of his brace and we all fed together as though this were the most natural thing in the world to be doing. When we were done they were full of questions. My name, where I was from, who my coven were, and of course, I didn't know most of the answers, or even understand words like 'coven.' Eventually, when they established that I was relatively new and completely alone, they insisted that I go and live with them."

I remember how, at first, I had simply shaken my head at them, unwilling to trust, and fled back into the darkness. They didn't pursue me, which I found surprising – it piqued my curiosity, and I wasn't able to resist, a few nights later, creeping back to the same spot to see if I would encounter them again.

Sure enough, they were there, with a fresh human victim for me – a young man, who stood dazed and barely conscious, mercifully unaware of what was happening to him. They backed off as I approached, allowed me to feed in peace, and again, did not try to give chase when I slipped away.

For some weeks, a pattern of sorts was set up. I would return, sometimes the next night, sometimes many nights later, and they would always be there, with prey. I realise now they must have been there every night, dispatching the humans themselves when I didn't show; but at the time it seemed almost magical, that they were there when I wished them to be.

And while I fed, they would talk to me in gentle voices, telling me about themselves, or amuse me with the japes they had learnt as jesters. Slowly but surely, I began to trust them and eventually, they persuaded me to join them.

"They lived in the French quarter of New Orleans in a loft they leased for a peppercorn rent," I continue, "The building was little better than a slum, but their loft was clean and dry and well-furnished, including the little spinet I told you about. Of course, I hadn't been in a house since infancy, so their modest home looked opulent to me.

"They were the rarest of creatures even beyond the dwarfism, because they had been a married couple in life, as humans. They had Anglicised their names to Frankie and Johnny, because of the song – it amused them – but their real names were – "

"Francesca and Giovanni Piccoli," interrupts Carlisle.

"You knew them?" I ask then clap my hands over my mouth, recognising the meaning he must take from my use of past-tense. Sure enough, sadness crosses his face quickly before he brings his features back under control.

"Yes, they were in Volterra when I was. They were jesters in medieval times, had amused the Volturi sufficiently to earn their conversion to vampires. But by the time I met them, they had fallen from favour somewhat. It doesn't surprise me they left – but I wish I knew they had come to America – I would have sought them out, renewed the friendship…"

"I'm sorry," I murmur. The tale seems harder to relate, now that I know the sorrow will not be only my own. "Maybe I shouldn't go on…"

"No, please do. It's obvious they gave you happiness – I want to hear about it – all of it."

"Like you say, they were quite ancient as vampires go, while I was so young, even in human years. This was less than a handful of years after my change, maybe only three, I don't know exactly how long I was adrift. They saw in me the child they never had, while I was just desperate for guidance and companionship. It was a match made in Heaven, really. We were together for over two-thirds of a century, and they made me very happy. They taught me English, Latin, Italian and French. They taught me the sciences; botany, Newton's theories, anthropology. They taught me literature and music, and I rewarded them with my little concerts on the spinet. They taught me what it meant to be a vampire – how to hunt inconspicuously – all the little facets of the one rule, the_ regola_ _unica_, as they called it. I fell in love with them and they with me – we became so much more than just a coven – a family, really, as strong as yours, in our own way, I think.

"We made a simple but maybe slightly grisly living, robbing the bodies of our prey, taking coins and jewellery to cover our rent and clothes when we needed them. It was as well that Frankie was a talented seamstress, because none of our prey was ever small enough for their clothes to fit us!

"It was during this time, through my second decade, really, that my talent began to manifest itself. At first, strange little mysteries occurred; we would leave an item in one place, it would turn up somewhere completely different. Our loft consisted of just two rooms, and the connecting door would open and close, apparently by itself. Then more sinister things happened – objects levitating in front of us, the spinet playing by itself – and Johnny announced that we had somehow attracted a poltergeist into our home. Well, being supernatural creatures ourselves, we weren't unduly concerned by this. Johnny was the most interested in our invisible guest, and began recording a journal of its activities. He soon began to suspect that the spirit was haunting me specifically – nothing ever happened when I was out, and they happened more frequently if I was agitated. Johnny watched, kept his notes, narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at me whenever our guest was particularly active.

"One day, when the spinet began to play, he demanded of me, in Italian, as that was their home language, and we all spoke it indoors,

'What are you thinking?'

'Mmmm?' The music stopped.

'Just then. What were you thinking?'

'Oh – that I should practise more.' I looked at the spinet. 'Do you think Geisty heard me?'

"Another day, Geisty was moving several candlesticks, and appeared to throw one of them at Johnny.

'Grace!' he demanded, 'Do I anger you?'

'No, Papa, you are a good father and I could never be angry with you.'

'But you are upset?'

"And I couldn't bear to tell him, because I loved him so much, but he had made me angry the night before when I had lost control on a hunt – I did sometimes – and he had slapped me to bring me out of the frenzy before I could do something to risk exposure. I had forgiven him, really, but the hunt had been cut short, and I was still thirsty, and I realised I had been stewing over it slightly.

'Did Geisty do that because of me?' I asked, horror-struck.

'No, Grace, _you_ did that. I do not believe we have a poltergeist after all. I believe we have a vampire with a talent.'

Well, it was easily proven. Frankie placed the fallen candlestick in front of me.

'Make it move, Bambina,' she instructed.

'I don't know how.'

'I think it will move if you will it to. Think about it, concentrate upon willing it to move.'

"And she was right. When I thought about moving the candlestick, I felt a _flex_ somewhere in my mind, and the candlestick levitated. It took a long time, however, to learn to control the strange muscle, so that objects _only_ moved when I consciously wanted them to.

"We would take long treks into the countryside so that I could practise on a larger and larger scale without being witnessed. And we found that there was really no limit to the size or weight of the objects I could lift – if it was free standing, I could move it. However, there was a limit to how many, because of my ability to divide my attention between them.

"But the South was a hard place to be mid-century when civil war threatened to break out, especially for two strange foreigners and their black servant, so we left the loft and the spinet behind and travelled north. Living rough was relatively straightforward; the countryside was full of displaced humans for easy prey. We followed the Appalachians northeast, and settled finally in New York. Immigration was so commonplace there, that we soon found suitable accommodation near other Italians, this time in a basement room.

"What I also _didn't_ know – perhaps the Piccolis kept this knowledge from me because they feared I had been created by such a clan and did not want me re-claimed – was that the South was the region of battles between rival vampire covens – the War of the New-born Armies."

"Yup," agrees Jasper, wryly. "I got the worst of both of them."

"Wars come and go, my parents said, we've out-lived many, and it seemed they were right; for the civil war came to an end, the Unionists of the North declared themselves the victors, and slavery was abolished, just as Nate had predicted.

"We lingered another decade in New York, but Frankie was home-sick for the warmer South, and when a particularly wet fall flooded our basement home, Johnny could ignore her pleas no longer and we made our way back toward New Orleans.

"It was not the same place we had left. Liberation seemed to have done the black people no good at all – many were unemployed and starving. And we did not seek out accommodation in the centre like we had before; instead we rented a small-holding on the out-skirts. This left me feeling out-of-sorts, for I had always pictured us returning to my spinet in the loft. Johnny explained, while Frankie was out on a solo hunt, that a new family of vampires had moved in to New Orleans. He had never felt the need to explain this before, it had not been an issue, but the thing was, vampires were fiercely territorial, and New Orleans was no longer our territory. Nowadays, we rarely hunted as a trio – to remain inconspicuous to the other vampires, one would take me out one night (I could not be entirely trusted to hunt alone, even after all that time) and the other would go alone another night.

"As the months passed, my parents became more anxious. We began, when the weather allowed, to hunt in the day-time. Johnny had explained this was because the American vampires were not "enlightened" like they were; they believed they would burn in the sun. Of course, the Volterra vampires knew better, and I had discovered the truth for myself on my first day. It was easy enough to keep our strange flesh hidden under the cape-like great coats that were the fashion. We had to be cleverer about how we selected prey. We hunted further abroad for lone itinerant workers, but they rarely had much money on them, and it became difficult to raise the rent money each week.

"When we could no longer pay, Frankie reluctantly agreed we would have to move on. The sky had been dark and overcast all week, so we packed up our few possessions, then awaited dawn so that we could leave. But when dawn came, the clouds of previous days had cleared and the sun was bright in the sky, so we were forced to wait until sunset.

"The following twenty-four hours were to be the worst of my existence. While we had hunted by day and rested by night, the coven in New Orleans had been picking up our trails in the night, and had tracked us to our home. The previous night, while we awaited dawn, they had approached the small-holding silently and secreted themselves around the outbuildings and woods. They hid from the sun and awaited dusk.

"I will never understand why they attacked us. We weren't a big clan, we hadn't built an army, or engaged the other vampires in any way; all we had done was eke out an existence on what we had believed were the edges of the territory.

"Dusk came, we prepared to leave; then Johnny caught the scent – vampires! Already we were trapped – the house was surrounded by about a dozen newborns, bearing torches. When they realised they were seen, their leader gave the command and they swarmed the building. The doors and windows exploded inwards as they burst through. Frankie and Johnny pushed me toward the ladder that led into our tiny loft-space and turned to fight. Of course, I refused to go, and threw the first wave back from my parents, but there were more behind and we were quickly overwhelmed."

I stop, unable to share my recollections. As strong, new-born hands clutched at my parents I at last lost my nerve and fled to the loft. The memory of my father being pulled asunder while my mother screeched in anguish had been etched deep in my psyche – her screeches ending abruptly as she shared her husband's fate. The new-borns tried to swarm up the ladder, but by now I was in such a frenzy, and they could not approach the narrow opening more than one or two at a time, so I simply kept repelling them. Then they stopped coming. I could hear furtive noises beneath me, then silence. I waited several seconds, then peered cautiously through the hatch. Beneath me, the remains of my parents were strewn on a pile of straw brought from the outhouse. Johnny's head was on the top, staring up at me, the eyes still salient, the mouth open in a silent scream. For a long moment, he and I stared at each other in horror. Then lit torches were thrown in. The others had simply decided to burn the whole place down with me inside to share my parents' fate.

For long seconds, as the flames grew, I had stayed frozen in the loft, literally petrified, unable to pull my eyes away from the grisly sight beneath me. Then, as the flames licked the beams on which I rested, I found the strength to move. The whole house was constructed from timber, the roof made of overlapping laths over felt. I covered my face with my arms, and burst through the end gable, landing among my assailants on the grass outside. But before they could lay their hands upon me, I _flexed _the hardest I ever had before and they were flung in all directions. I scrambled to my feet, and fled sobbing into the night. I ran for hours, endlessly throwing back the newborns as they chased me. Then they fell back suddenly, and I realised dawn was almost upon us once more.

I press my fists into my eyes, trying to push the images away. I feel Esme's arms around me, pulling me into an embrace, cradling me like a child. This makes me uncomfortable, but I don't want to hurt her feelings by pushing her away. Edward clears his throat.

"She couldn't hold the attackers off," he explains. "She barely got away herself."

"Grace, I'm sorry," whispers Carlisle.

Behind me, the parlour door opens and closes sharply.

"Jasper, no," Alice calls, then she, too, has left the room.

I pull my hands down, twisting out of Esme's grip slightly to look around. Edward looks troubled.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Jasper will have routed many little covens just like yours in his time," Edward tells me. "He's never heard the tale from the point of view of the victims before."

"I didn't mean to hurt him," I whisper. "I tried not to tell too many details." Of course, Edward would have had to see it all through my memory.

"Don't worry about me," he insists with a weak smile. "And don't worry about Jasper, either. He's had the most troubled past of all the Cullens, but he'll deal with it."

"What happened to you, after you got away?" Bella prompts.

"I ran almost non-stop for all that day and into the night, to make sure they couldn't catch up with me again. Then I just wandered. I lived as a nomad. I went back to the Appalachians, away from the South, away from the other vampires, away from humans. I was sick with grief and I became completely feral for a long time, living almost entirely off animals, because I was so afraid that returning to human populations would bring me in the path of more vampires.

"Of course, I couldn't stay like that forever. We're not gregarious creatures – well most of us aren't –" I add with a wry smile at my hosts -"but we aren't meant to be alone, either. I began to drift closer to civilisation again, began to feed on humans again. And sometimes I encountered other vampires. Pairs and trios I instinctively avoided, but occasionally I would find other loners. Sometimes we would strike up a wary friendship and travel together for a while. The friendship would run its course for whatever reason, and I'd be alone again. Mostly I partnered with females. I felt safer."

"You never found another pair like Frankie and Johnnie to join?" asks Bella. I look to Edward for the answer.

"If you didn't have Carlisle and Esme any more, would you have joined another pair?" I ask him. "Could they have become your parents in their place?"

Edward smiles ruefully, and shakes his head.

"Sometimes I joined pairs. But Frankie and Johnny were rare among vampires. They were so much more civilised, because of their associations in Italy, I suppose. We had homes. We lived alongside humans. Apart from yourselves, how many vampire clans do you know who live settled lives like that?"

"Worldwide?" asks Carlisle. "A handful. In North America, there is only one other family, our cousins in Denali."

"Well, there you go. My life-style since then has been the norm among our kind. Apart from maybe my occasional choice of diet. That's got me in trouble before, if others have thought me deviant."

"Is that why your current clan attacked you?" Edward asks. "Did they find you 'deviant?'"

"I don't know." I picture the wall again, but this time with no razor-wire. I don't want to endure Carlisle's censure again. I wriggle free of Esme's arms, and move to the door.

"I want to see Jasper. He shouldn't be sad on my account," I announce, taking my leave of the others. But I don't go to him. I flit up the two flights of stairs to our landing and listen outside Alice's room for a moment. They are in there, but I have no intention of disturbing them. Instead, I slip into my room, take the throw from the cot and bound up into the attic. I wrap myself in the throw, crawl into the space behind the chimney and give myself to the grief that has been waiting to overwhelm me.

When I come to myself again, I find myself contemplating remaining with the Cullens. It has a certain appeal – Esme is smitten with me, and right now, after all I've just been through, falling into the role of child and allowing her to care for me is very tempting. I've done it before when I have felt particularly lonely, and I've encountered vampires with strong maternal instincts. But it's dishonest. I'm not a child, and I can never truly be what the other female wants me to be. Eventually I become restless, start to feel smothered by the love; and I end up doing something hurtful to break the bond and regain my freedom.

I don't want it to be that way with Esme. And there are so many ways in which I could hurt her, could let both her and Carlisle down with their gentle, human-like customs.

In fact, I really should not be allowing Esme to behave the way she does towards me, with the stroking and the cuddling and the way her eyes light up when she sees me. She isn't just smitten, she has already fallen in love with the child she imagines me to be, and it would be wrong of me to let it continue. With a sigh, I crawl back out of my hiding-place and go in search of Carlisle. He's the man of the house; he can deal with the problem.


	6. Chapter 6 True Colours

**_6. True Colours_**

It is twilight outside the tiny bedroom window when I finally drop from the attic. My feet land silently on the rug, as I absorb the impact with a cat-like crouch. It seems my strength is returning with every hour. I slip from my room and pause outside Alice's room again. She and Jasper are still in there, talking in whispers. Alice giggles at something, and I move on, not meaning to pry. Instead, I descend the two flights of stairs. I can hear piano music coming from the parlour. The door is ajar and I glimpse Edward at the piano, with Bella on the stool beside him, head resting lightly on his shoulder. It occurs to me Edward will know I am there, so I don't linger. I find Esme in the den, feet up on the overstuffed couch. Her head is bent over a small pair of black chinos – are they the ones I was wearing earlier? – and she is carefully sewing a small rip. Perhaps I did that while we were hunting. I hope she isn't angry with me for not taking more care.

The kitchen is empty, so I make my way back to the first landing. I listen outside the study door for a moment, then tap shyly.

"Come on in," Carlisle's voice responds softly. He closes a folder he has been studying as I enter and smiles welcomingly, gesturing towards one of the seats. I'm far too tense to wish to sit, so I ignore them and stand in front of the desk. I need to speak to him, but now I am here I become tongue tied, and don't know where to start. I notice the front of the folder bears the name of some charity hospital outside of Boston, and realise Carlisle has come a long way to help me.

Carlisle seems unperturbed by my sudden reticence.

"Can I examine you while you're here, check how you're healing?" he asks instead. I shrug, not daring to refuse, and he rises to his feet, coming round to my side of the desk. In his hand is a black leather bag, which he places on the floor beside me. He crouches down so that our faces are level. I stand impassively, gazing off to the side as he eases my dungaree straps from my shoulders then gently places his hands under my blouse collar to feel around my neck. His fingers delicately probe the scars, then he shakes my shoulder to make me look at him.

"How does your throat feel?" he asks, once he has eye-contact. His expression is kind and warm.

"Sore," I admit.

He reaches into the bag and draws out a small flat piece of board and a tool of some sort with a black handle and hinged head. I step back, alarmed.

"It's okay," he assures me. "These are my medical instruments. This is a tongue depressor," – he indicates the board – "and this is just a light, like a torch. I want to look into your mouth, to see if I can see the damage from the inside. Can you let me do that?"

I nod, and open my mouth when he asks me to. He is a long time looking, pushing my tongue down hard with the depressor, his face carefully expressionless. When he is done, he sets the tools on the desk behind him then gently pulls the dungaree straps back over my shoulders. I flinch as his fingers brush against me, but keep my eyes carefully to one side, still passive.

He then takes my hands in both of his and turns them over, inspecting the scars there.

"Squeeze my hands," he commands, his voice soft but professional. I obey without looking. When I release my grip again, he does not let go of my hands.

"Have you looked at your legs today?" he asks me. I nod, tensing. I was borne of an era when gentlemen did not touch women in this way, and he is making me very uncomfortable. He seems aware of this.

"I'm not going to ask to examine your legs," he assures me. "You tell me, please, how does the scarring look, to you?"

"Not too bad," I whisper. "Similar to the arms. Better than my neck."

He releases my hands then and stands, ruffling my hair as he goes in the universal mark of an adult's affection toward a child. I release my breath in a whoosh, unaware until now that I had been holding it. We are both silent for a few more seconds, and in that time I hear him move back to his seat behind the desk.

"Grace." The firmness in his voice makes me glance up. His face is friendly despite his tone. "You came to see me…" he prompts.

"I needed to speak to you."

"Mm-hm."

"About… everything. All this," I gesture around the room, but I really mean the whole house and the family. "I don't understand my place here. Why you're helping me, what you want from me."

"We're helping you because you needed help. My son and his wife found you, and felt compelled to help, because they are good people and that was the right thing to do."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have been listening to the piano, because I register that Edward has stopped playing. I was hoping he wouldn't listen to us, that I could have a private conversation with Carlisle. After a brief pause the playing resumes, a little louder. My eyes meet Carlisle's and he smiles conspiratorially, as if he, too, has noticed.

"Edward is rather conflicted about what he did," Carlisle informs me, his expression serious once more. "Your physical scars are healing beautifully, you're regaining strength faster than I could have hoped for, but he is very much aware of your mental anguish, as is Jasper. It's an unfortunate side-effect of their gifts. Edward can see that you're depressed, afraid, unwilling or unable to trust us. He wonders if, after all, saving you was the right thing for you."

"Oh." That's a lot to take in. And I remember Edward's gentle words when he came upon me, and my silent, unheard plea for him to light the pyre and put an end to my pain. I carefully build my wall around that memory – it is one that I wouldn't want to hurt him with.

Carlisle is silent, waiting patiently for me to process my thoughts.

"I'm sorry I've been such a poor guest," I whisper, eventually. "Edward should know that he did the right thing, what else could he do? And he needn't worry about my state of mind either – I've suffered much deeper depressions and I've always brought myself out of them eventually."

Carlisle smiles when I allow my gaze to meet his briefly. His eyes are intelligent and knowing – I think he suspects I am not being entirely truthful, am trying to spare Edward's feelings, but he would want his son's concerns eased, so he does not challenge my words.

"As for where you stand, it's very much your choice. Esme and I would like you to join our family. But in order to do that, you would have to commit to our life-style, in particular, abstention from human blood."

"You gave me human blood."

"I gave you donated blood, intended for transfusions," he replies. I gawp at him. I have no idea what he could mean – why would humans _give_ us their blood?

"In human medicine," he explains, "they found that if a patient has lost a lot of blood, they can replace some of it using units of blood taken from other humans – volunteers, called donors. This practice saves lives. Those blood pouches were intended for saving lives, no human was harmed obtaining them and your life needed saving. Morally, I felt justified in giving you that blood. I would never have killed a human to help a vampire."

"I don't know what to say to that," I admit, feeling slightly repulsed. The Piccolis had a novel that used to give us no end of mirth – a story about a scientist who built a new man out of body parts and gave it life using lightning. I can't help thinking that taking blood from one human and putting it in another is a bit similar. Maybe I'll ask about it one day, but not now.

"You could just say thank you," Carlisle suggests.

"Thank you." I manage a small smile, and Carlisle rewards me with a huge grin. Then our faces grow serious again.

"I don't know if I can stay with you," I tell him, sadly. "The human blood thing is a serious issue. Even if I shared your view, I have a problem with control when humans cross my path."

"You managed to live in town with the Piccolis. You must have _some_ control."

"A friend once helped explain that to me," I reply. A kind man I had once known, back in the nineteen eighties. We had travelled together for months. I still run into him occasionally. "Did you ever try chocolate?" Carlisle shakes his head. "Me neither. But apparently, humans go mad for it. It's like catnip to them. And they have huge factories making the stuff. The people who work there, you'd think they'd eat all the chocolate, but they don't. The bosses let them have all they want, and after a while, they stop wanting it. My friend said living in a town is like that. The Piccolis took me hunting daily. I always had enough so when I encountered humans I wasn't allowed to feed on, like the rent man, I could resist because I wasn't overly thirsty. When I live wild, and a human crosses my path, it doesn't matter how much animal blood I've had, I'm instantly unbearably thirsty, and I attack without thinking."

"It's still like that for Jasper. But he has managed to resist for decades, because he has committed himself and it's what he wants."

"The human blood isn't the only thing. I have never lived in such a huge coven before. I don't think I can cope. You're all so kind to me, and courteous, and friendly – far more than I deserve. Yet I still find you intimidating, I'm still fighting the urge to run. But there's one more thing. And it is a problem." I look down again, watching my hands upon the desk as I twist my fingers together. I want this conversation, need it, but I also fear the consequences. What I need to say now is likely to cause offense. Carlisle reaches across the desk to still my hands.

"Whatever you want to say can remain between you and me," he tells me, quietly. I glance towards the door. He guesses what I am thinking.

"Edward isn't listening. I already asked him for privacy, and we can trust him in this."

"I don't want to offend you, or hurt anybody's feelings."

"I have broad shoulders."

Well all right, I think. He's asked for it.

"It's about the way some of you view me. Esme especially."

"Go on."

"When you look at me, you don't see a two hundred year old vampire. You see a child."

"That's not true."

"I've never seen you ruffle Esme's hair. Or any of the others'."

I glance up to see his reaction. His face is carefully expressionless once more. I am starting to think of it as his professional doctor's face.

"It's not your fault. It's like an extra talent, but not one I can control. It's what made the Immortal Children so irresistible. And I think Esme's falling for it in a big way. She wants me because she wants a child. And I'm not a child. I'm an older vampire than she is!" The vehemence in my own voice startles me, and I stop to take a breath.

"I can't be her child," I conclude, "and I can't stay if that's what I mean to her – to any of you." My eyes are now firmly lowered, and I can't meet Carlisle's gaze. I'm afraid of his reaction.

"Grace."

I don't respond, don't look up at him, which is why he comes back to my side of the desk and kneels in front of me. I still can not give him eye contact.

"Grace."

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"No, I'm sorry. I had no idea. And of course, you're right. It's obvious when you point it out. I can see why it's awkward for you."

"I like Esme. I don't want to hurt her feelings," I whisper.

Carlisle moves as if to put a hand on my shoulder, then changes his mind, letting it drop. I swallow. I want this small touch, that promises reassurance, but my words have drawn a line, and Carlisle will not cross it. I feel small and alone.

"I'll talk to Esme. I'll make her understand. In the meantime, I have to be at work in under twenty-four hours. I've had several days away from humans – I need to hunt first. I'd like you to accompany me. Just you and me. I want to hear more about the Piccolis."

Carlisle stands, and holds his arm out to me, bent at the elbow.

"Ma'am?" he asks, with a grin.

"Why, thank you, sir," I respond, trying to appear cheerful for his sake, and slip my hand through his elbow.

Carlisle leads me to the front door, where Esme meets us. Asking me to excuse him a moment, Carlisle leads Esme away to the kitchen, clearly planning to discuss with her what has been said.

I am left, next to the door, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. I am anxious about what exactly Carlisle is saying to her, how she will react. I like Esme, I want her for a friend, but I am afraid she will no longer trust me when she understands I am beguiling her, unintentional though it is. And here, next to me, is the door, and there is nothing to stop me simply slipping through it and taking my leave of this strange, gentle family. I could open the door now, be gone in a trice, fading into the blackness of the night. I would be more comfortable alone, could find a remote spot where no vampires would cross my path, and finish healing. The door is right there, beckoning to me…

I start as the parlour door is flung open and Edward bursts through into the hall, his face anguished.

"No, Grace," he growls, "please don't go like this. You're not ready; you won't be safe alone yet. Just give us a few more days. When Carlisle gets back you can decide then."

"It's okay, Edward," Alice's voice floats down the stairs, "She wasn't going to run."

"But she needs the freedom to choose," Carlisle adds, from behind Edward. He comes past, and holds his elbow for me to take once more.

"If you decide to go, we will not prevent you," he says to me gently, "but we will be greatly saddened, and we will not be able to stop worrying about you."

I close my eyes and take several breaths, trying to bring my sudden exasperation under control. Between the mind-reader and the fortune-teller, everything I do is going to be second-guessed. And now, this kind, generous, paternal man is going to add guilt to the mix. Don't make us unhappy, don't make us worry… and I realise with a pang that I haven't been shown this much affection since the Piccolis. What is wrong with me that I can't just accept their kindness?

Resolving to try a lot harder, I follow Carlisle through the door and into the night.


	7. Chapter 7 Rage

**_7. Rage_**

The next few days pass slowly but peaceably. I discover the seat of the piano stool lifts to reveal a box full of manuscript, and I spend several happy hours playing. A set of dances by Eric Satie becomes a fast favourite. The melancholy of Satie's music suits my mood perfectly. Edward spends half an hour teaching me how to use the pedals, and I quickly get to grips with the instrument's expressive range, playing with a depth of feeling I could never have achieved from the spinet.

The others mostly stay in their pairs, seemingly careful not to crowd me. This leaves Esme on her own a lot, so when I am not playing at the piano, I find myself following her around as she potters. Nothing has been said about the conversation with Carlisle, and she remains as warm and friendly towards me as ever. I begin to observe that she behaves almost as maternally towards the others as she does for me – she listens to conversations with an indulgent smile, her gaze moving lovingly between each of them. I notice she is very tactile; whenever she speaks with someone, she will lay a hand on their arm, or smooth a stray lock of hair on their head. Anyone she passes receives a gentle stroke as she goes, and she gives hugs and kisses freely. Edward seems a particular favourite – he had been her first 'son' after all - and she has a fondness for stroking the back of his head where his hair meets at a little point at the nape.

Edward catches me watching at least once, and rolls his eyes at me, as if to say, what can you do?

I gradually stop flinching when she touches me and begin to shyly return her warm smiles; sometimes I am not the first to break away from one of her hugs.

The only indication from her that anything has changed is that she no longer attempts to pull me into her lap at every opportunity, and for that I am grateful. Whatever Carlisle has said to her, she has taken it well, and I begin to love her just a little bit for that.

Esme is always busy, looking at the strange drawings that form part of her work, or reading, or sewing. She always appears to be at peace, whatever she is doing, and I like being in her company because she doesn't ask questions or require me to make conversation. She just goes about her daily business, allowing me to follow like a silent shadow.

I am taken hunting nightly, always by different pairings – either Edward and Bella or Alice and Jasper, or with just Esme. We stay near the lodge and hunt mainly deer. Every time I feed, the now familiar spike of pain hits me, but it is becoming less powerful, while my own strength increases. I also find I'm not tiring so quickly – in fact, I'm becoming restless. The deer that seemed so difficult to catch a few days ago are no longer enough for me. I ask once if we could go a little further north into the forests of Jasper National Park (Jasper never tires of reminding us of the name) where there are great herds of caribou, which are bigger and gamier than the nearby deer. Bella laughs at that and asks if I mean to rob Santa of Rudolph; I stare at her nonplussed until Edward guffaws and she drops her eyes in embarrassment. I am none the wiser when Bella tries to recount the story of Santa Claus and Rudolph. It seems that Bella has remembered so much more of her human culture than the others, and they find her all the more endearing for it.

On the second evening after Carlisle left, we find ourselves all together in the living room. Esme, Alice and Jasper have taken up residence on the sofa again, Edward and Bella the armchair. I sit on the thick rug in front of the sofa, leaning against Esme's legs with my eyes closed. The large group is making me anxious but I'm trying to appear relaxed. Esme's fingers are absent-mindedly stroking my head, tracing out the furrows between the corn rows Alice has given me. It is a surprisingly pleasurable sensation.

"You know," Jasper is saying, "If our family is too big for Grace, we could always see whether Tanya and Kate would take her in."

Esme's fingers pause momentarily, and I can feel her tension through them – she obviously doesn't like any discussion about the possibility of me leaving.

"I'm not sure that would help," Edward replies. "They're still grieving for Irina, and Garrett's quite a handful. Our lifestyle is proving quite a challenge for him!"

My eyes open at the name.

"Garrett?" I ask.

"You know him?" Jasper responds.

"Mm. We ran together for a while in the nineteen sixties." I squirm a little at the memory, and Edward's curiosity is piqued.

"That must have been interesting," he prompts. Jasper snickers and Alice kicks him.

"He was clever and funny and kind," I retort, loyally.

"He's the most dreadful flirt!" Edward counters, chuckling.

I smile. "That's true. He even flirted with his food," I tell them.

"I'll bet they died happy," leers Jasper, and Alice kicks him even harder.

"So what happened?" Esme asks me. "I hope the old rogue didn't try it on with you?"

"Not exactly," I murmur, embarrassed. Garrett had come across me during one of my lows. With his unfailing humour he had jollied me out of it, and we quickly became friends. Garrett was generous, charming, attentive and devastatingly handsome… how could I not fall for him? But he could not reciprocate; like all decent men, my child-like appearance was too much of an obstacle for him. He had been so kind to me, however, letting me down gently, and we had parted friends.

"It was I who misread the signals," I admit, and hide my face against Esme's skirt while Jasper and Edward roar with laughter. Esme strokes the back of my neck soothingly.

On the last night before Carlisle is due to return, Edward and Jasper have finally had enough of my restless flitting between activities and endless pacing when I can find nothing else to do and announce they will take me hunting. They are tired of deer, too, and decide some predator blood would be just the thing. The mountains are a rich source of cougar, lynx, black bears and grizzlies; something for all tastes, Jasper quips.

They run north towards the mountains, and I run too, relishing the wind in my hair, and the fact that I am beginning to be able to keep up with the others, for short bursts, at least.

Half-way up WolverineMountain, we encounter the trail of a cougar.

"Mountain lion," whispers Edward. "I call dibs!"

"No chance," Jasper tells him. "This isn't the 'Edward' National Park, now, is it?"

I turn my head toward them to remonstrate that they are going to scare our meal away, then freeze as I catch a different scent – human!

Everything happens very quickly after that. Edward and Jasper catch the same scent only a fraction later, and Jasper emits a groan of desire. In that instant, he becomes a rival. Without any forethought, I _flex _and send both vampires hurtling away from me into the trees. Dropping into a hunting crouch I streak in the direction of my prey. I am now completely in the grip of my instincts; the predator within has complete sway over all my thought-processes. When I hear the other vampires gaining, I _flex _again, much harder. There is a loud crack behind me, followed by a creaking and crashing, possibly of trees falling, but I'm not interested, and don't look back. I bound up into the forest canopy, leaping from tree to tree, to give me a better vantage point over both my prey and my pursuers. They come upon me once more, and once more I _flex _not knowing or caring whether I hurt them.

Then, directly below, I behold a beautiful sight – a lone hiker, cussing as he struggles in the dark with a small dome tent that has seen better days. Venom flows over my teeth and my throat spikes with a different pain – the burn of thirst and desire. I drop gracefully to the forest floor. The man turns sharply at the tiny sound the dead leaves make as they resettle around my feet. His expression moves from alarm through surprise to gentle concern as his eyes peer through the gloom to take in the sight of the little girl standing before him. I smile uncertainly back at him. Other vampires use their beauty to bewitch their prey, but I have my secret weapon – vulnerability. The man is quite rightly shocked to find a child apparently alone in such a wild place, and casts his eyes around, probably looking for my parents.

"Are you lost, little girl?" he demands, eventually. When I don't answer immediately, he smiles at me reassuringly. "It's ok, hun, you're safe with me."

My smile stretches into a wide, predatory grin – he is most certainly _not _safe with _me_. Behind me I am vaguely aware of the others, but they are hanging back momentarily. Something in the man's subconscious finally warns him he is looking at something entirely other than it seems, and his consternation turns into wide-eyed fear as I advance, cat-like. He tries to step back but his feet tangle in a tree root. He stumbles, arms pin-wheeling, and lands on his backside. I am upon him in a flash. He cries out once as I rip his thick lumber jacket away to expose the soft, hot flesh of his upper arm. As I sink my teeth into the large vein beneath his armpit, he falls into a merciful swoon and knows no more.

There is movement just within my peripheral vision, and I raise my eyes in time to see Jasper advancing, his eyes completely black, his teeth bared in a snarl. Edward has hold of his arm and seems to be trying to hold him back. There is no time to take this in – I _flex _and they are gone, thrown back once more. Then I am able to close my eyes for a moment and give myself to the ecstasy of the blood as it gushes over my aching throat and infuses every cell of my being.

When I open my eyes once more, Edward is standing over me, shaking with anger.

"What. Have. You. Done?" he demands through clenched teeth, his jaw popping with each syllable. Befuddled, I look down at the spent body in my arms.

I blink.

Oh.

Past his shoulder, I can see Jasper leaning against a tree-trunk, his head in his hands - he looks upset. I drop my meal guiltily, and rise to my feet.

"Oops," I whisper, weakly.

"OOPS!" Edward roars. He takes a step forward, and I take a corresponding one back. "Have you ANY idea what you just did? To HIM-" Edward points at the corpse between us – "And to JASPER?"

"Careful…" whispers Jasper, reaching out a cautioning hand toward his brother.

Edward runs a hand through his hair, trying to rein in his temper.

"We're going to have to bury him, remove the evidence…" he begins, trying to keep his voice level. My wits return to me temporarily.

"No," I reply curtly. Edward blinks.

"What?" his voice is rough, still dangerously close to anger. He certainly isn't going to accept any challenge to his authority from me. But in this matter, I know what I am doing.

"No grave," I say firmly. "If it's found, human involvement will be suspected, and there'll be a murder hunt. We leave everything exactly as it is. The coyotes will take the body. If the tent is found, some sort of misadventure will be assumed. These are dangerous parts; no wise human would be here alone. It could be years before anyone else comes this way."

"That's callous."

"That's _life._"

Edward and I glare at each other, nostrils flaring. One false move from him, and he will be thrown again, hard enough to _really_ hurt. Edward hears my thoughts, and breaks his gaze. He steps back, and his eyes fall upon the corpse. He runs his hands through his hair again, but this time, he doesn't appear angry – he looks conflicted and - _anguished._

Then it hits me. He is genuinely upset about the death of the hiker. His pursuit had not been with the intention of vying for the prey, but in the hope of protecting him. And I realise his anguish will be reflected in the faces of the others when we return – Alice and Bella, yes, but more so the ever gentle Esme. And Carlisle – Carlisle who sees these humans as equals and has dedicated his life to caring for them and healing them – I can imagine the sadness and disappointment in his eyes, and it is unbearable.

I look from Edward to Jasper. He raises his face from his hands now and looks back at me – his irises are completely black, his teeth are bared and he is panting shallowly, the signs of a vampire in the throes of bloodlust – but his eyes also show his pain. I have hurt Jasper and Edward most of all. Jasper because he almost failed in his resolve to abstain from human blood – would have fought me for my kill if it had not been for Edward - my actions are to blame for that. And Edward because he must have been trying to hold Jasper back, and in so doing, has sacrificed any chance he had of getting between me and the hiker and defending him.

These people have helped me and befriended me, and I have failed in the only thing they have asked in return. I will surely no longer be welcome among them. Choking back a sob, I turn and flee.

"No, Grace, please," Edward calls out behind me, but I just run harder, plunging blindly through the trees.

The terrain begins to slope steeply downwards away from me, and I veer left, trying to keep high in the mountain, but suddenly Edward is there, barrelling towards me. I _flex _and he is thrown away from me, but I turn back downhill, then zig to my right to try to gain high ground again. No sooner have I turned than Jasper appears. With another _flex _he is gone, but once more I have been forced to veer downhill.

My stomach lurches sickeningly as I burst between two huge pines and the ground falls away steeply. For three whole beats, I sail through the air, then drop onto the slope, skidding and sliding through the scree. Edward appears once more on my left, also free-falling before hitting the mountainside and skidding along parallel to me several yards away.

Then my feet catch on a larger rock, and I tumble forward. Fighting the urge to put my arms out to break my fall, I tuck my head into my knees and roll like some bizarre gambolling circus clown, literally head over heels, gaining momentum as I go. The slope levels out again as suddenly as it had dipped and I smash into a young spruce, winded by the abrupt halt.

Despite my dizziness I have enough presence of mind to throw Edward away from me once more before he can skitter across and lay a-hold of me. Then I am up and running again, throwing Jasper from me almost before I am consciously aware of him on my right flank.

The pursuit carries on like this interminably – I zig away from Edward on one side, then zag away from Jasper on the other. I throw each of them countless times, but they get up every time and resume their relentless chase.

Then, too late, I recognise the pattern to their movements. The lodge heaves into view through the trees, and I realise I have been herded like some dumb deer! I skid to a halt, my heels gouging two deep ruts in the soft earth, then round on my pursuers.

They have stopped running too and are stalking towards me warily. Jasper raises his hands placatingly, but it seems a red mist has descended in front of my eyes, and if he is trying to calm me, it isn't getting through.

"Grace, it's okay," Edward tries to reassure me.

"Leave me ALONE!" I screech, and _flex _once more to keep them back.

About a hundred yards behind me I can hear the door to the lodge opening and the concerned voices of Bella and Esme as they come to investigate the commotion. I turn to them and throw them both back against the door. Edward snarls in response to his wife's cry of shock and charges – so I run in the one direction still available to me. I burst through the trees, cross the narrow lawn in three gargantuan strides then launch myself at the side of the building, scaling the wall up to my box-room window.

I hurl myself through the glass, and there beneath the hatch stands Alice, as though she knew I would come this way and is waiting for me. Almost unthinkingly, I throw her against the wardrobe, which crumples under the impact with a splintering crash, then leap up through the hatch and along the beams to my hiding place.

I crawl into the space behind the chimney breast, and wrap the throw around me as though it could shield me from the horror of the situation I am in. In the momentary silence as the dust settles around me, I become aware of somebody gasping and sobbing – and realise that it's me. I have not stopped my terrified cries since the chase began.

I shriek as Jasper's head appears through the hatch, and with a _flex _I hurl one of the storage crates at him. He withdraws immediately and it hits the end gable behind where his head was just a moment ago, scattering its load of what appears to be old books and photo frames.

Panting with a mixture of fear and fury, I line up all the remaining boxes across the beams in front of me, using my talent to lift each one and place it. I build a haphazard wall in this way, with a gap to give me a clear line of sight to the hatch – I have not forgotten Alice's stealth.

"Grace."

My breath hitches as Edward's voice comes up to me from the room below.

"You don't want to do this. Come down, let us talk calmly, we can sort this all out."

But I know that the moment I emerge, they will fall upon me and tear me apart; why else would they have herded me here instead of just letting me go? So I don't answer.

"We didn't bring you here to hurt you," Edward's voice insists, and my anger spikes again.

"Get out of my head!" I scream, and the boxes and crates rattle in warning.

Then suddenly, impossibly, Carlisle's voice rings out from the box-room.

"Can somebody explain what is going on here?"

I can hear the relief in Edward's and Jasper's voices as the tale of the night's events tumble from them - the hunt, the hiker, the flight, their pursuit, and how she is now holed up in there, too angry and terrified to be reasoned with. I barely recognise myself in the tale.

In a single bound, Carlisle is up in the loft, side-stepping across the beams until he can extend to his full height.

"Stay back!" I gasp, trembling. The boxes and crates tremble with me, betraying the extent of my fear.

"Come out, Grace." He makes as if to step closer to me.

"I mean it," I warn, and hurl a large wooden crate towards him. I aim it to pass harmlessly just a whisker to his left, spilling its contents next to the first – a warning shot across his bow. He holds his ground, barely flinching, not taking his eyes off me over the top of the remaining boxes.

"Grace."

"I don't want to hurt you," I moan in response.

"Then you won't," Carlisle replies simply.

I fling another box, this time straight at him, and he raises his arm to deflect it easily. Two more boxes are hurled and deflected in the same manner, and still Carlisle will not be budged.

"Grace, listen to me," he insists, keeping the same even tone. "You're not yourself right now. Let me bring Jasper up."

"No."

"He won't hurt you. He'll help you regain control. You know that he can. When you're back in control, you'll be able to think clearly, and you'll be able to keep yourself safe. You want to be safe, don't you?"

I don't answer him straight away. His calm amber eyes hold mine, his expression open, inviting trust. I take one deep, shuddering breath then another.

"I'm going back down now," he goes on, "and Jasper is coming up. He won't come any closer than I am now – you have my word."

Somewhere dimly in my consciousness, I realise that Jasper is probably already in close proximity somewhere beneath me, trying to exert his calm over me, and I suddenly feel very tired; so moments later, when Jasper is standing in Carlisle's place, I can't find the strength to scream or hurl anything. I pull the throw tighter around me, and I just stare, awaiting his next move.

His eyes meet mine, still black, and instinctively, I draw up into my hunting crouch, a growl building deep in my throat. His response is immediate – his gaze falls to the floor, his hands fall limply to his sides, empty palms tilted toward me, and his shoulders hunch slightly, making himself smaller; the proper vampire gesture of submission. My own stance relaxes marginally, but the involuntary growl will not let up.

"There you are," he murmurs in a sing-song voice as though he has just come across a favourite pet. "Listen to my voice, Grace," he continues. "You're safe. You've always been safe. We're not going to harm you. Nothing can harm you now. Why don't you come to me, and we can make this all better?"

It makes sense. I _want_ to make everything all better. I want Jasper to make _me_ feel better. To my own surprise, I find myself inching forward, passing through the gap in what's left of my wall, mesmerised by his soft tone.

"That's it, my sweet, why don't you take my hand?"

I pause as he raises his hand toward me, palm upwards. Then I reach my own trembling fingers towards his.

No sooner do our outstretched fingers meet than he has me scooped into his arms, cradled like a baby with my face buried against his throat, my arms tucked tightly between my chest and his. Waves of calm continue to wash over me as he hums an old, strangely familiar lullaby. It reminds me of long ago, uncomplicated days when the Master's daughter, Eloisa, had nursed me through a bout of croup. It is one of the few memories I have of kindness towards me while human.

I rub my cheek against his rough, scarred skin, inhaling his scent of light brown soap and musk. His own lips brush my forehead lightly, and he takes my hand in one of his and places it over his shoulder, squeezing gently against my fingers to make me hold on to him. Then he steps back towards the hatch and drops down lithely, a slight bend of his knees absorbing all the impact as he lands on the box-room floor below.

Almost before I know what is happening, he bears me from the room and down the stairs to the first landing, flanked by Edward and Carlisle who have been waiting. Once there, I feel hands trying to take me – Esme's – but I can't cope with her yet, can't face her after throwing her so roughly, so I press my face deeper into Jasper's neck, and clutch his shoulder more tightly.

"Not yet, Esme," Carlisle admonishes gently.

I am carried into the study, and I hear the door close behind me. This gives me a fresh pang of anxiety, but Jasper resumes his gentle humming trying to relax me once more. He sits in one of the office chairs, settling me into his lap.

This is all too much for me and I begin sobbing in earnest, clinging to Jasper as though my life depends upon it. I am not even sure why I am crying – it's a combination of stress, fear and strangely, grief and emptiness, as the anger slowly subsides. For a long time, all I am aware of is his voice, still humming quietly, and his hands, which gently rub up and down my back. But slowly, as my breathing calms and the shaking eases, my own wits begin to return to me and I become aware of my surroundings. I can feel Jasper's chest rising and falling beneath me, and realise our breathing has synchronised. I can hear the clock ticking, and a creak as someone – probably Carlisle – shifts in the chair on the other side of the grand desk. Behind me, I can just barely hear somebody breathing – is it Edward?

I raise my head from Jasper's chest and look into his eyes – they are calmer now, and slightly lighter – he is thirsty, but the bloodlust has left him.

"Hello," he says, smiling kindly at me.

I manage a watery smile in return then turn my head towards Carlisle. His expression is serious, speculative. He looks over my head quizzically, and I turn too, just in time to see Edward give an almost imperceptible nod. I frown and turn back, laying my head against Jasper's chest and closing my eyes once more. I don't want to face the others yet, I just want to stay here, in the safe cocoon of Jasper's embrace. But Carlisle has other ideas.

"I think Grace needs to sit in her own seat now," he tells Jasper quietly. "We need her in command of her own thoughts and emotions."

Jasper complies immediately, without comment, and I find myself deposited beside him in a large black leather chair. My feet do not reach the floor, and swing in the air. Aware this will compound my child-like appearance, I draw my knees up. As I do, I surreptitiously check the room's exits.

Carlisle sits opposite Jasper and me, effectively cutting off my route to the window. Edward, as I have already noticed, is standing in front of the door to the landing. Over to my left is the door to the library, where there is another window, but Jasper is sitting on my left, and would surely cut me off if I try for that route.

All my escape routes are closed to me unless I choose to fight, and I no longer have the will. The three female members of the clan are not nearby. I strain hard, trying to catch the subtle sounds of their presence, but I can't hear them anywhere in the house. Carlisle must have sent them away. They would not want their women to witness what must surely come next. My stomach clenches as I realise that Jasper has at last used his talent against me – he has lured me to my doom!

I draw my knees right the way up to my chest now and wrap my arms around them defensively. I glare defiantly into Carlisle's eyes.

"Do what you have to," I say evenly, sounding braver than I feel. "I won't fight you. Just make it quick." Then I duck my head into the crook of my arm and clamp my eyes tightly shut, so that I will not see death coming for me.

"Grace, no!" Edward chokes behind me. Jasper's hand brushes my shoulder, and I flinch. Then Carlisle is kneeling before me, his hands each side of me on the armrests of my chair. I can feel his close proximity, hear his shallow breathing. For a long moment, nothing more is said – we are a frozen tableau.

Carlisle breaks the spell.

"Grace. Look at me."

I shake my head, eyes tightly shut. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing the fear in my eyes before he destroys me.

"Grace."

Still I refuse to open my eyes. Suddenly, I feel Carlisle's hands clutch my upper arms and I am hoisted into the air, so that he is standing at full height holding me in the air in front of him at his eye level. My eyes fly open in shock, and I find myself staring into his face, his expression still calm and serious.

"What do we have to do to convince you we wouldn't hurt you?" he demands, shaking me slightly.

"I killed a human," I reply simply. Carlisle shakes his head.

"We should have done more to ensure you didn't encounter one." His eyes flick briefly over my shoulder, in Edward's direction.

"I nearly took Jasper with me," I insist, feeling a pang of guilt. I wonder what it would have cost him emotionally and in terms of his status in this family, if he had succumbed to the bloodlust and shared my feast.

"I'm fine," responds Jasper from his seat.

"I hurt you. I fought you. And… and, you've seen my temper, what I'm capable of when I'm angry."

"You were frightened," Carlisle tells me, his expression softening. He sets me back on my feet. I scowl at the rug. Why can't these people see me for the monster I really am? I am not like them. They have worked hard for decades – centuries, in Carlisle's case – to become as human-like as they possibly could. I, on the other hand, have embraced my vampire nature. To me, humans are still no more than a source of nourishment. I like the Cullens, I want to please them; but frankly, I can't see the point of their aversion to their natural prey.

"No – I was angry," I say, eventually. "I thought Edward and Jasper were going to take my kill from me, and I fought for it. Then when they herded me back here… Carlisle, if it weren't for Jasper's gift…"

"You wouldn't have hurt us."

"Carlisle!" my voice rises more sharply than I mean it to. I lift my eyes to his, waiting for him to really listen, to understand what I am trying to say. "I most certainly could have hurt somebody. I am capable of killing when I am in a rage. I have killed!"

"But only once," Edward adds softly.

I freeze, and take a calming breath. Edward is in my head again, and I want to lash out – I don't want his help right now. But this would not be a good time to turn on Edward. I don't want to push Carlisle's patience. His peaceful nature will not extend to allowing attacks upon his family, of this I am certain.

Carlisle is watching me, his expression unreadable.

"You said you wouldn't stop me if I tried to leave." I glare up at him. He nods. "They stopped me." I wave in Edward and Jasper's direction. "And you're stopping me now."

"No, Grace, we aren't. Why would you say that?"

Jasper rises to his feet and stands beside me, a calming hand on my shoulder. He has spent the longest as a true vampire. Edward might be a gifted mind-reader, but Jasper is the one who really _understands _me.

"Carlisle, she's trapped in here with us right now."

Carlisle frowns.

"We've brought her into this room, and we've blocked off her exits. She knows her behaviour has threatened us, and she expects us to defend ourselves. She expects you, as head of your clan, to respond to the physical assaults against us. She's expecting retribution, and instead you're being nice. It's confusing. I should know," he adds, smiling wryly.

Carlisle shakes his head.

"Grace, you haven't always been a nomad. You spent a long time in a strong, loving coven. You told me all about them. You were very settled."

"They weren't like you, Carlisle. They were very loving, and I adored them. But they controlled me with their own strength. If I lost my temper, or went into a feeding frenzy, they didn't let it run its course then tell me afterward how disappointed they were. They slapped me, punched me, bit me, restrained me any way they could to stop me in my tracks. I knew immediately when I displeased them. I knew what was expected of me, and I understood the consequences if I let them down."

"I see." Carlisle's lips are pursed.

"No you don't. You think they were harsh. But does a lioness not bite her cubs? To make them obey and keep them safe? Vampire discipline is the same."

We are silent for a long time while Carlisle processes this. He has worked so hard, for so long, to retain his humanity that I wonder whether he has any true vampire instincts at all. Jasper's hand remains on my shoulder, his thumb circling comfortingly. I am suddenly exhausted – right now I just want to be alone. Perhaps it is time to take my leave of this perplexing family.

"Where is Esme?" I ask abruptly.

"I sent them to hunt. For a little while, I wasn't sure you'd be able to gain control of yourself. I didn't want you to upset her."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He sighs. "You want to leave now, don't you?" he asks, bleakly. I swallow, and nod. Behind me, I hear Edward step away from the door, and I turn to go.

Jasper grabs me suddenly, in a fierce, bear-like hug.

"I'll miss you," he murmurs. "Please come back and visit. You'll always be welcome."

I turn my head to look at Carlisle, and he nods.

"We don't want you to go. You'll always be welcome here, or wherever we are. Esme will always be especially glad to see you."

"Will you say good-bye for me? And thank her?"

"Of course."

I break away from Jasper's hug and shyly reach up to Carlisle, accepting his kiss on my cheek. Then I turn toward the door, and to Edward.

"Thank you," I whisper. "To you and Bella. For finding me and helping me, and giving me more kindness than I deserve." I reach out my hand stiffly to shake his, but he pulls me into a hug.

"We love you," he replies. "Whatever else you may think of us, know that we love you."

"Let us make you up a backpack," Carlisle offers, but I shake my head.

"I have all I need. Thank you. For everything."

I break free of Edward's hug, and make my way down the stairs towards the front door with a lump in my throat. This is really it. I'm on my own, again. But as I reach the bottom step, Edward suddenly cries out in alarm.

"No, Grace! Don't go out!"

Misunderstanding him, thinking he has changed his mind and does not mean to let me go after all, I lunge for the door and yank it open.

And look straight up into the terrified face of Esme.


	8. Chapter 8 Home to Roost

**_8. Home to Roost_**

She is held from behind by another vampire, her neck stretched almost to breaking point. Behind her stand Evie and Saskia, my erstwhile coven. They each have hold of Alice and Bella.

Behind me, Carlisle lets out a groan of dismay as his eyes meet his wife's. Edward and Jasper step smartly forward, as if to shield me from the horror unfolding in front of me, while Carlisle moves behind me, his arms enclosing me in gentle restraint.

The other vampire is old – maybe as old as Carlisle. His dark hair hangs in unkempt curls around his narrow face, and his deep, red eyes blaze as he regards me. Esme's eyes are also on me, wide with pain and fear. Where her captor's hand is pressed to her throat, I can see cracks forming on her beautiful alabaster skin. He is hurting her, and rage begins to boil up in me again.

Why is Carlisle holding me back? Why isn't he dealing with this threat himself? I struggle in his arms, snarling deep and menacingly in my throat, echoing Edward and Jasper's own rumbles.

The vampire seems unmoved by this display.

"I just want the slave-girl," he announces pleasantly, "then we can stop all this nastiness." And he pulls a little harder on Esme's throat, in case we don't know what nastiness he is referring to.

I raise my hands to Carlisle's arms and firmly remove his grip, noting with satisfaction how much stronger I am since my _human_ meal and push myself between Edward and Jasper so that I am standing before him.

"I'm here," I growl up at him. "Release her."

He smiles a slow, sardonic, sneer.

"Not until you're fully outside my dear, and away from your new - " he pauses as his eyes flicker to the men behind me – "friends."

Then, in that moment, the hot rage leaves me, to be replaced by an ice-cold fury, one that I am entirely in control of. My breathing slows, and I am able to take in the scene before me properly. Behind the male, Evie and Saskia, despite the hard set to their mouths, look afraid. They are in this above their heads, following the lead of this vampire who has been in and out of their lives far too sporadically for their relationship ever to be entirely easy. Alice is calm now, too, her eyes closed, and I wonder if she is using her talent to predict what her captor's next move is, what hers should be. It occurs to me just briefly to wonder why she didn't see the attack coming and avert it.

Bella, too, looks much calmer; her eyes are fixed on Edward's, mistakenly trusting him to deal with this situation and protect her.

And I realise that it's up to me now – Carlisle won't attack, his pacifism extends beyond his diet, and the others won't attack without his say so, or this would be dealt with by now. But it's going to cost me dearly – I have never before allowed other vampires to see the full extent of my abilities. What I can do – what I am going to have to do to Esme's captor – will show the Cullens just how much of a fiend I really am. They will no longer want me amongst them when they see this. But I can't allow Esme to be hurt, either.

I grin nastily at the vampire, then, very, very gently, not breaking eye contact, I _flex._ His smug expression morphs to one of wide-eyed dismay as he finds his fingers opening one by one, loosening their hold on Esme. She falls forward gasping, and strong hands reach through from behind me to pull her to safety.

Meanwhile, keeping the male mesmerized in my gaze, I _flex _again, harder, forcing Evie and Saskia's arms to release their captives, then I hoist them some thirty feet into the air and hold them there, dangling helplessly and crying out with fear. In the same instant, I hurl myself at the male, throwing us both to the ground. His fingers claw the air futilely, but his limbs are still under my control. I straddle his chest and clamp his head between my hands.

"I'm going to send you the same way I did our creator!" I hiss, and begin to squeeze. The other vampire's eyes are round with fear, his lips forming some wordless plea.

"Grace, stop; you don't have to do this," Carlisle's voice rings out sternly behind me, but I'm not listening. These creatures have attacked his coven, hurt _his mate;_ he should be doing this, not me. But he clearly isn't capable, so this retribution is my gift to him.

I set my jaw and continue to squeeze, slowly, determined this beast should pay for my agony as well as Esme's. His eyes roll up in his head and his flesh begins to crack under my hands. I close my own eyes to savour the feeling of power that surges through me.

Then, out of the blue, I am hit from the side with the force of a steam train, losing my grip on my intended victim as I skid several feet along the ground. My concentration broken, Evie and Saskia fall hard to the ground, and I am aware in my peripheral vision of Bella and Alice leaping forward to restrain them.

Without missing a beat, I rock up onto my heels, snarling viciously at my assailant, only to find myself face to face with Jasper. His eyes glint with anger, his face contorted with the fiercest snarl I have ever heard from him. His whole being threatens me, menace emanating from him like stabbing, white-hot knives. I know better than to take on such a fierce adversary, and stop my own growl abruptly. I drop my gaze, and relax my bearing, making myself small and submissive.

"Good girl," Jasper murmurs, his own fury instantly forgotten. He scoops me up gently in his arms, and kisses my forehead quickly before placing me next to Esme, who is on her knees still gasping with pain and shock. He catches Carlisle's eye as he strides past, and nods curtly, as if to say; _that's_ how you correct an errant vampire!

I put my arms around Esme and pull her close so that her cheek rests against my chest then watch impassively as Carlisle and Edward take the male by an arm each and haul him to his feet. Their expressions are grim – the male looks resigned. Jasper moves to help Alice and Bella with the others.

"Oh, Grace, you didn't need to do that," Esme croaks hoarsely. I kiss the top of her head.

"But he was hurting you," I reply simply.

I stare across the kitchen table at the male vampire, whose name is Erastus. I have never met him, but I have heard of him. He's an old friend of the others. I am aware that my expression is a little wide-eyed, maybe even slightly awed as I regard him, but I can't help it. There is so much to take in. I don't know how, some vampire instinct I hadn't known of, but the moment I looked into his eyes I recognised him as kin. By some strange instinct, I could tell immediately that we share a creator. Reuben made us both.

Carlisle sits to my right, with Esme on his other side. He has his arm round her shoulder protectively, and his other hand holds mine, a tacit signal of possession to the other coven. Jasper sits to my left with Alice perched on his lap. His spare hand rests on my knee, reinforcing Carlisle's message – Grace is with us now, she has our protection. Bella and Edward stand arm in arm behind Carlisle and me.

Erastus sits opposite Carlisle flanked by Evie and Saskia. Their once friendly faces are now cold, their eyes darting and wary – they are outnumbered seven to three, and, like me, they are uneasy indoors. I switch my gaze to Saskia, who glares back at me. I sigh. She had been the one who most wanted me to join with her and Evie; had been the one to persuade Evie to accept me. Yet she had also been the one to drive me away, and later to lead the attack against me, and her hostility towards me is still very much in evidence.

Right now, each side seems content simply to stare the other down, a silent impasse. Nobody is breathing – the only sound is the quiet crackling of the fire in the kitchen's big, open fireplace.

After an eternity, Carlisle frees his hands, lays them, palm down, on the table, and leans towards Erastus.

"You have a grievance against Grace."

Erastus' eyes move to Carlisle, then back to me.

"She's a murderer."

"Reuben."

"She told you?"

"Yes."

"She told you how she crushed his skull then left his torso crawling and blind?"

I look round at Carlisle, alarmed. I had run away and left the body still moving! Of course, at the time, I could not possibly have known that a vampire could not be destroyed by dismemberment alone; until very recently, I could barely have imagined the pain inflicted, either.

"She was new-born," Edward cuts in. "She didn't understand what had happened to her. She was afraid and angry."

"Reuben was my _mate_!" Erastus half stands as he says this, his face contorted with anger and pain. Behind me, Bella gives a little twitch of surprise.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"You have no idea," he snarls at me, sitting once more. "How do you think it was for me, finding him like that? His head was dust, scattered in the wind, there was no hope of restoring him, but his body remained - crawling, reaching, seeking help. That is what I found!"

"What did you do?" Carlisle asks evenly.

Erastus glares at him. "The only thing I could do!" he spits. "I had to build a pyre and put him on and watch him burn!"

I shut my eyes tight against the image. Of course I know how Erastus felt – had I not buried my own Nate that same day? Had not my beloved Piccolis been dismembered and burnt before my eyes? Jasper squeezes my thigh supportively, and I lean my head against his shoulder. Alice takes one of my hands in both of hers and begins to massage it, soothingly. I open my eyes again in time to catch Erastus' look of loathing.

"I see she has you all thoroughly under her spell," he comments, acidly. Evie shifts uncomfortably next to him, and my eyes meet hers. I wonder if he was angry with her for falling under my spell, too. I can't help feeling sorry for her, even now. She confided something to me once, swore me to secrecy, and I know Erastus also has the power of this knowledge, and that he holds it over them. I clamp down hard on these thoughts and glance round at Edward, wondering if he hears me, wondering what he can hear in the minds of the others. His eyes meet mine briefly, but he's giving nothing away.

"Grace," Carlisle addresses me, and I turn to him. "I think you need to explain exactly what happened. Then perhaps our guests here can fill in a few blanks in the tale – on both sides."

"Reuben left me," I murmur. "He bit me and then he left me. When I woke, I was alone and didn't know what had happened to me. I ran to my one human friend for support, and I fed on him and killed him, because I didn't know what I had become and had no control over it. When others came searching for me, I fed on them too. I was terrified. I had no idea what Reuben had done to me. When he found me, I was beyond reason. I thought he was a Voodoo priest, and I had become some sort of Zombie. Then he started telling me we were children of the night, that he had bestowed upon me some great gift. What kind of gift makes one murder their own love, Erastus? I acted impulsively out of fear and revulsion. I didn't really know what I was doing."

"Love? What would you know of love?"

"I loved Nate. He was going to buy our freedom, then marry me. But Reuben turned me into a monster and I killed him. I was sick with grief."

Erastus laughs, cruelly.

"You were never going to marry!" he scoffs. "Who would ever have let a pair of Negroes _choose_ who they marry?"

Esme draws in her breath sharply at his choice of language, but I shrug it off. I have been called worse. Besides, he's right. The civil war would have come far too late to liberate Nate and me, had our human lives continued. Assuming I had survived the Master's cruelty, I would have been sold to another plantation, and offered to a male there, like a mare to stud.

"I loved Nate. And I was found by another pair of vampires, and I loved them, too. And I would have avenged their murders, if I could have. But not now, after all this time."

I sigh, and look at Carlisle.

"What's the point of this?" I ask him, waving my hand round the table at the group. "He's not interested in excuses. He wants to finish what he started. Edward knows this – Alice can see how this must end."

"I can see several outcomes," Alice whispers. "We're trying to get to the right one for everybody."

"We're trying to come to an understanding," Carlisle tells me patiently. "To find a way forward where perhaps Erastus can have some form of justice without the need to kill anybody."

"What other justice can I have?" Erastus demands. "Reuben is dead. She killed him. An eye for an eye."

I put my arms on the table and rest my head upon them, suddenly weary. What am I supposed to say to the vampire? He is right again. His mate is dead by my hand – what else could he ask for but my life in return?

"Erastus, tell us about Reuben – about what he meant to you. So we can understand the effect his loss had."

Erastus sighs.

"I was born in the seventeen twenties to wealthy landowners in Williamsburg," he explains. "I grew up, I was expected to marry. But I remained a bachelor, because I had no interest in women. Mine was a lonely existence once my parents died. In those days, homosexual acts were punishable by death, so men like me were doomed to either live a lie or remain alone.

"Then, while I was in my thirties, Reuben came into my life. I had gone to the new theatre built recently, and he accosted me as I walked home, commenting that he had seen me in the audience and was taken by how engrossed I had been in the drama, and wanted my opinion, as a fellow devotee. He was the most exquisitely beautiful creature I had ever seen, and it quickly became evident he was besotted with me. Every night for a month he came to my home, and we sat in my parlour talking into the small hours. He never came close to me, never shook my hand, never visited in daylight, so I had no inkling he was anything other than he claimed.

"Gradually, our conversations moved on from plays we had seen, philosophies we held and society gossip. His questions became more personal. He wanted to know why such an eligible bachelor as myself had never married. Of course, I could not admit to him why women held no appeal for me, far less could I hint that I wished our friendship could be so much more than it was. Instead I became angry and suggested that his company was becoming wearisome and perhaps he should call less frequently.

"At which point, he declared his love for me! I was thrilled and horrified in equal measure – I was a law-abiding Christian – was I not named for one of St Paul's own disciples? But Reuben was not to be deterred. Eventually he persuaded me of his true nature, and promised that, should I agree to become like him, we would be apart from the laws of man and God, and be free to have the love we deserved.

"And so it was that I gave myself willingly to him." Erastus stops, and glowers at me.

"That choice was not offered to me," I retort, lifting my head to meet his glare. "He _took _me – I was given no alternative."

"You were a slave-girl. Why would he ask your permission?"

"Is that what he wanted with me? Some little vampire slave – was that it? Because if so, I'm _glad _I destroyed him!"

Now Erastus and I are on our feet, leaning toward each other over the table, snarls building in our throats. Mentally, I begin to prepare for a huge _flex _that will carry him through the window behind him and outside, where I can finish what I began.

"Don't you dare," Edward whispers behind me, his voice low and threatening.

Jasper, meanwhile, is doing his best to defuse the situation, waves of calm emanating from him.

"Grace, Erastus," Carlisle murmurs, also rising to his feet, his hands splayed between us as though to keep us apart. "Grace, please show a little more decorum in the presence of guests. Erastus, we want to understand what happened, but please moderate your use of language. It would _not_ be wise for you to provoke Grace in this way."

I don't know whether it is Carlisle's words or Jasper's influence, but we both find ourselves seated once more. I'm not going to be side-tracked, though.

"Well?" I demand. "Why did Reuben change me?"

Erastus shakes his head, refusing to answer. I look round at Edward again – does he know? Edward looks away from me – he isn't going to help. Or is he simply unwilling to reveal his talent? This seems a bit unfair, after I was forced to reveal so much of mine, defending this peaceful family so pitifully unable to defend themselves. Edward's eyes snap round to glare at me – he clearly doesn't like being called helpless. I meet his gaze flatly for a moment before returning my attention to Erastus.

"Why won't you tell me?" I ask him. "We're supposed to be understanding each other here. I want to understand this. Have you any idea what it was like for me, afterwards? I didn't properly know what I was; I was completely alone in the world. There was nobody to help me – I became a savage beast, feasting on any blood that came my way, human or animal. I indiscriminately destroyed whole families of travellers; women, children, elderly – I just didn't care. To all intents and purposes, I may as well have been an Immortal Child for all the understanding I had." I glance up at Carlisle. "If the Piccolis hadn't found me, I don't know what would have become of me."

Erastus is just staring impassively.

"Why did Reuben leave me?" I try again. "Why didn't he look after me through the transformation, reassure me, let me know what was happening to me?"

"Have you ever watched a transformation?" Erastus asks me, quietly. I shake my head. "It's an awful thing to witness. The agony of the new vampire is indescribable, as they writhe and scream and beg for death. And all the while, the remaining human blood is singing to the creator, calling for him to finish the feed. In most cases, it is better for the safety of the new vampire, and the sanity of the creator, if he is not there while this goes on. I don't know why he wasn't there when you awoke. Maybe he overestimated how long you would take. It's usually three days, but you're small – maybe it was quicker for you. Either way, it was not his intention to abandon you, for I know he would have been quite distraught when he found you missing."

I look up at Carlisle and he nods. As creator of a large clan, he has seen the transformation many times, knows the truth of Erastus' words, of how Reuben must have felt. Even so, I wonder whether Carlisle would have left his charges for even a moment while they suffered. I twist to look at Edward and his eyes tell me no. Carlisle would never do such a thing.

Evie leans behind Erastus' back and begins to whisper earnestly to her partner. Erastus must be able to hear them, but he keeps his features impassive. I can't hear what is said, but Saskia frowns and shakes her head in response, casting her eyes in my direction as she does so.

"Why did you two help him?" I ask, suddenly. "I know we'd had a falling out, but it was all resolved before we parted, wasn't it? What had I done that was so terrible as to deserve that from you?"

Evie shifts in her seat, and shoots Saskia a sidelong glance. She is the most timid vampire I have ever encountered, living entirely in her mate's shadow, and doesn't say or do anything without Saskia's approval.

"Erastus is our friend," Saskia tells me. "We knew his mate had been destroyed by a new-born, but we had no idea it was you until he came to visit us and heard about you."

"I didn't want him to hurt you," Evie whispers, "but then we saw you, feeding on animal blood –" she shivers with revulsion – "Erastus told us you were unnatural, an abomination; that destroying one's own creator would corrupt a mind in this way…"

"And you believed him?"

"Not any more." She lowers her eyes to her hands, which are twisting in her lap. She looks so small, so helpless, and I can't help feeling a sharp pang of sympathy for my erstwhile friend. I slide down from my own chair and go around to her side of the table. I put my hands over her hands, and lean my forehead against hers.

"It's okay," I murmur, "what's done is done."

Abruptly, I gasp as strong, cold hands clutch my throat; Erastus has seized his chance! He lifts me clean away from Evie, shoves Saskia out of his way and pushes me up against the broad chimney breast. There are dots in front of my eyes – I think I am going to black out, but I retain control long enough to _flex _and his hands let go of me and clutch at his own throat. His eyes widen in terror as he realises what I am doing to him. This time, I am going to do the job properly. He is not going to get another chance to attack me.

Then, suddenly, Edward and Carlisle take hold of Erastus while Jasper grabs me. I watch, aghast, as Carlisle's face hardens and with a sharp twist and a sickening sound like grating metal, he pulls Erastus' head clean off.

Before I can react, Jasper has pushed me into the arms of Esme and Bella. He and Alice rush to Evie and Saskia to restrain them. Evie hardly seems to need restraint – she has collapsed in horror and Alice scoops her into a tight embrace. Saskia stands resigned and unresisting, her arms pinned to her sides by Jasper.

I only observe this for a second though, before my eyes are drawn back to Carlisle and Edward. For a moment, I look into Erastus's eyes and they meet mine – he looks puzzled, but is clearly still conscious and salient. I retch at the sight.

"Carlisle!" I gasp, "Help him – make it stop!"

"Esme, get her out of here," Carlisle commands, quietly. Esme and Bella grip my arms more tightly, and propel me from the kitchen, closely followed by Jasper and Alice with their captives. We are taken up the first flight of stairs, through the study and into the library.

Evie is released into Saskia's arms, and the pair stand trembling, no doubt expecting to share Erastus' fate. For the longest time, we all remain frozen in stunned silence. I try not to hear the commotion coming from downstairs, focussing instead on steadying my breathing and bringing my own tremors under control.

After an age, I turn and look askance at Jasper.

Alice strokes my arm.

"He was never going to leave you alone, Grace," she tells me, sadly. "I could see it, Edward could see it and when he went for you, we realised it was time to end it."

"Carlisle, though?" I am stunned.

"You never thought he had it in him, did you?" Jasper responds. "Carlisle is not soft, Grace. He will not tolerate attacks upon his family or friends."

"But I would have finished it. None of you had to."

"No, Grace," Esme kneels in front of me and pulls my chin so I'm looking down at her. "We couldn't let you be responsible for another death like that. You don't need that on your conscience."

I want to tell her I'm sure my conscience would be just fine, thank you very much, but I remember Erastus' puzzled eyes, and my reaction. How would I feel, if his suffering had been my doing? If I'm really honest with myself? Instead, I tilt my eyes towards Evie and Saskia. Evie is openly weeping, huge dry sobs, in her mate's arms. Saskia's face is set. Whatever is about to befall them, she intends to face it with enough courage for both of them.

"What will you do to them?" I whisper.


	9. Chapter 9 Farewells

**_9. Farewells_**

"That depends upon what happens now," replies Carlisle from the study. He appears in the doorway with Edward just behind him. They are both wearing grim expressions. Edward is regarding my former coven coldly.

"Erastus?" I whisper.

"We were quick," Carlisle promises me. "He's burning – we used the log-pile to build a pyre."

There is a fresh sob from Evie. I start to move towards her, to offer her comfort, but Saskia's having none of it. She turns so that her own body is shielding Evie from me, a warning growl rumbling deep in her throat.

I glance round at the others anxiously. I don't want either woman attacked; don't want Saskia's reaction to me misinterpreted as a threat.

"We don't want to hurt them, either," Edward murmurs, in response to my thoughts.

"Then let us go," Saskia demands, her eyes flashing fiercely at him.

"All in good time," Carlisle tells her. "First, we'd like some answers." He turns to me. "Grace, who are these people to you, and why did they attack you? And don't tell me you don't know."

Torn, I look around the room, gauging my options. Part of me wants to run; part of me just wants to curl into a ball. I find myself yearning for the space behind the chimney breast in the attic. It's warm and quiet up there. The library is far too crowded for my comfort, and I know Saskia will be feeling the same way. Edward reads my thoughts.

"Bella, you, Esme and Alice should go and check on the pyre," he suggests.

"I'll go with them," Jasper responds firmly, perhaps remembering what happened last time the women were sent outside. When they are gone, I am left with Saskia and Evie to one side of me by the long wall of bookshelves, and Edward and Carlisle to the other side, just inside the doorway to the study. Carlisle hasn't taken his eyes from me, still awaiting my answer.

"I ran with them for almost a year," I said at last. "Their scent… appealed to me, and I followed them for days until they let me join them. Then we just lived as nomadic vampires, the three of us, travelling where the mood took us. Three normal vampires."

Saskia snorts.

"You were attracted to Evie," she accuses me. "You tried to take her from me."

"No, I would never have done that," I insist, "and I wasn't attracted to her in the normal way, either." I sigh. Admitting to this is going to cost me. "Sometimes I'm attracted to females who are… particularly maternal. And I often find the attraction is mutual. They are attracted to me because I appear like a child. They want to possess me like a child, adopt me, sort of. And this is convenient for me, if I'm feeling vulnerable and want to be… looked after. I did try to warn you, with Esme," my voice has reduced to a murmur as I glance up at Carlisle. His face is carefully expressionless as he regards me. He's angry, and too cultured to show it, I think. Am I attracted to Esme? I'm not sure. My feelings are too confused with Saskia and Evie's betrayal and the way Esme cared for me afterwards.

"Mine and Evie's friendship… it wasn't _inappropriate, _exactly," I continue, "but I think I did come between her and Saskia a bit. And we had a huge row. Saskia and I fought. Of course, Saskia's stronger than me and got the upper hand and Evie begged her to stop."

"You didn't use your talent to fight?" Carlisle asks me.

"No. I don't show people that if I can help it." Except for the Cullens, because Jasper alarmed me. Otherwise I would not have revealed my talent to them either. It still worries me that between Jasper and Erastus, I have been forced to expose so much. The Piccolis had been careful to keep me away from other vampires, even friends we made in New York, because they feared the Volturi learning of, and taking an interest in, my abilities.

"So," I continue, "Evie was made to choose – and of course, she chose Saskia - and then they left me. I drifted over the border into Canada, assuming I wouldn't see them again. The next thing I knew, they ambushed me, with the help of the other vampire, Erastus. Edward and Bella must have disturbed them, and that's all I know." I look at Edward, waiting for him to confirm that I'm being truthful.

"They surprised you while you were feeding," he says, "and you didn't have time to react or use your talent to defend yourself."

I nod at him, but I'm watching Carlisle now. Will he think I was seducing Esme? Will he turn on me? Carlisle's expression is still indecipherable, his attention firmly upon Saskia and Evie.

"I need to understand how Erastus fits into this scenario," he states.

Defiantly, Saskia pouts, her crimson eyes flashing, and a low, warning rumble issues from Edward's throat. I wonder what he has heard in her thoughts although I'm not sure I want to know.

Evie pulls herself out of Saskia's embrace, keeping hold of her hand, and meets Carlisle's eyes.

"Erastus had picked up our trail and was looking for us," she explains in her quiet, clear voice. "He was curious to know who the third scent belonged to and why we had separated."

"Erastus always took care of us," Saskia cuts in, loyally.

"No, he always comes and goes – I mean, came and went – as he pleased. But he was possessive. He didn't like us to have other acquaintances. When he came back, he always wanted to know where we'd been, who we'd met – but he never told us where he'd been, or who with. So we told him about Grace, and when we mentioned she was a former slave, he made us tell everything we knew. And then he got really angry…"

"You can't blame him," hisses Saskia. "When he realised she must be the same slave that Reuben changed, Erastus insisted we find her."

"He was quite forceful," Evie murmurs.

"_You _were uncooperative."

"He wanted to hurt her."

"She killed his mate and almost took you from me. She had it coming."

Evie's eyes move to mine briefly, then she turns to her mate, letting go of her hand to face her.

"No, Saskia, I would never leave you. I truly believed Grace was a child, I wanted to be a family, the three of us."

I bury my face in my hands, wishing the ground would somehow swallow me up. This is it – how it always ends – when the scales fall from the eyes of my companions and they finally see me for what I am. I'm not a beautiful child-doll, I'm not even a decent vampire; I am just The Runt, the slave who should never have survived birth, a lost and damaged soul who should never have existed. And as a consequence of the Master's intervention, to indulge his only child, I have left a trail of misery, for myself and everyone unfortunate enough to encounter me.

Evie turns back towards Carlisle.

"Erastus had us track Grace. We followed her over the border, and finally caught her up in a meadow, where she was feeding on some sort of cat."

"She was like an animal – we've never seen anything like it, vampires preying on beasts," Saskia cuts in. "Erastus said she was an abomination, that we should destroy her."

"So you just attacked, on his say so?" Carlisle's eyes are flashing dangerously. I'm not the only one he's angry with.

"It was horrible," Evie whispers. "I was relieved when we heard the other vampires coming, and we ran away before it was finished."

"But you followed her here anyway, with Erastus, knowing he wanted justice, and exactly what that meant to him." Edward's voice is as cold as Carlisle's. Actually, he has a point there. Undeserving demon though I am, it would appear strange that someone as gentle as Evie, someone who apparently bears no ill-will towards me and is appalled at what had happened before, would continue to seek my destruction. But then, the Cullens could not possibly know what I do. Edward's eyes dart to mine, and I clamp down hard on the thought, iron shutters clanging down around it. There is no way I would betray Evie.

"Erastus had some kind of hold over you," Edward guesses. Evie's face turns ashen as she moves back to the relative safety of Saskia's arms. And I can see from Edward's expression that he has read from either Evie or Saskia, or both, the shame they bear, the shame that Erastus had discovered, that he used until his death to wield power over the pair.

_Please, _I beg Edward in my thoughts, _don't say it, don't let on you know. Don't hurt them!_

Edward looks at me long and hard, then there is a slow blink, and an almost imperceptible nod.

"Grace," he says, glancing towards Carlisle for approval, "this has to be up to you. There has been some hurt on both sides and a lot of misunderstanding, I think. Do you suppose Evie and Saskia would pose a threat to you, or to us, if we let them go?"

I look at my former coven, and they stare back at me. Saskia's face still bears a dark scowl, but I can hardly blame her. Would she harm me, given the opportunity? Possibly. But in Evie's face I can see sorrow, and a quiet determination. I realise I may have misjudged her. Timid she may be, but weak? No, I don't think so. Saskia is outwardly the leader of the pair, but I think she would not do anything Evie didn't want her to. And Evie does not want to hurt me; of this I am now certain. And although neither will ever admit it, even to each other, the Cullens have done them a great service, freeing them from Erastus and freeing them from fear of exposure.

"No," I say, at last. "They won't hurt me. Or you. They just want to move on, like me." I turn to Saskia and hold my hand out. Still hostile, she ignores it. "I'm truly sorry," I tell her, not dropping my hand, "for everything I did. I knew how Evie felt about me, I should have stopped it as soon as I realised. All of this is my fault, and I'm sorry for the pain I've caused you."

Unable to ignore my hand any longer without appearing rude, Saskia takes it and pumps it once, firmly. Her left arm tightens round Evie's shoulder. I turn to the smaller, older woman.

"Evie, I…" but I'm unable to finish as she pulls me into a fierce hug.

"No, Grace," she murmurs into my hair, "I'm sorry. What we did to you was unforgiveable. Nothing you did deserved that. And I'm grateful this coven found you, and that you're going to be all right. Stay safe."

And to my surprise, she steps back from the hug, keeping hold of me by the shoulders, and plants a loud kiss on my lips. Then she releases me, and looks up expectantly at Saskia.

"May we leave now?" Saskia asks, a slight edge of sarcasm in her voice.

"Of course," Carlisle replies smoothly. "Please allow me to see you out." And he gestures towards the door. Without another glance in my direction, they pass through and he follows them. I listen to their footsteps descending the stairs, then I sit wearily in one of the two brown, leather armchairs, hugging my knees and resting my head on my arms. I hear Edward pass me to sit in the other armchair.

"You are wrong, you know," he murmurs after a moment. I don't answer him, or even acknowledge I have heard. I can hear Carlisle at the front door, talking to the others as though they had merely visited for tea. He bids them farewell by instructing them to go in peace. I wonder if they will ever truly have peace, if any of us can.

I can feel Edward's eyes boring into me.

"Wrong, how?" I ask flatly, as that seems to be required of me.

"Wrong about not being worthy of love. About not having the right to exist. About being responsible for the things that go wrong around you."

I shrug. What would he know?

"Evie and Saskia think I'm a deviant," I whisper. "Even amongst the damned, I'm abhorrent."

"That's a very bleak outlook, and not at all true. I wish you would agree to stay a little longer, give us a chance. We all love you, Grace, and it's _not_ for your childish appearance, not even Esme."

My retort dries in my throat as Carlisle rejoins us. He is brisk and businesslike as he takes my head between his hands and lifts slightly, forcing my chin up so he can inspect my neck.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, frowning with concern. Strangely enough, I had forgotten about Erastus' attempt to remove my head again. Now that I'm reminded of it, my neck and throat are rather sore, but I don't want a fuss, so I shake my head firmly within his grasp. He looks into my eyes for a long moment then lets me go, and turns to Edward.

"What on earth did Erastus have over those two?" Carlisle asks him. My head snaps up, and it's my turn to bore into Edward with my glare.

_You can't tell him! _I think fiercely. _He won't understand. He'll run straight to his friends the Volturi, and I'll have to stop him! _

"Carlisle will do no such thing," Edward sighs. "Besides, the Volturi are no friends of ours at the moment. It's a long story, but we won't be running to them with this particular tale." Edward looks up at his adopted father.

"Evie once attacked a young, homeless girl," he tells Carlisle, ignoring my hiss. "I think it might have been during the Great Depression. Afterwards, she heard a cry, and realised the girl had a baby, maybe a few days old. Evie found the infant, intending to put him out of his misery, but of course, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She changed him instead. But he remained completely helpless, even in Immortal form. She had to catch humans, immobilise them, then hold him to an open wound so that he could feed. It was a horrific situation, but Evie couldn't bear to harm the child, and Saskia couldn't bear to upset Evie.

"Erastus was an acquaintance of theirs at the time. He had wanted to form a coven with them, but they had refused his advances. He found them with the baby, convinced them of the hopelessness of the situation, and dispatched the child for them. But of course, he could bear witness that Evie had created, and Saskia had allowed to exist, an Immortal Child. And he'd been blackmailing them ever since."

"I see." Carlisle looks at me. "How did you know of this?"

"Evie told me. Saskia doesn't know. She would never forgive Evie if she knew all of that had been confided to me. What will you do?"

"Nothing. I think they've suffered more than enough, don't you? There is no need to drag up the past in this way – it's best forgotten." He smiles kindly at me and I find myself warily returning it.

At that moment, the others return. They all seem weighed down by the gravity of the task they have just carried out, but Esme smiles when she sees me, and scoops me, unresisting, into her arms. I am too weary to object to the attention, so I let my head fall against her shoulder.

"You silly, brave thing," she murmurs, "You didn't have to fight Erastus on my account, we would have taken care of it."

"You let the others leave?" Jasper enquires.

"They didn't want any more to do with Erastus' vendetta," Edward explains. "In fact, they were relieved to be free of him. An unpleasant character all round, if you ask me."

I try to wriggle free of Esme's hold, and she sets me on my feet.

"I'd like to be alone for a while," I tell the others, and squeeze past Bella and Alice out of the library. I let myself back into my box-room, intending to go up into the attic. Pausing in the doorway, I behold the mess; the wardrobe is reduced to firewood and scattered around the room; the cot is broken, which must have happened as I burst through the window, and glittering shards of glass cover everything. This is all the result of my blind rage – was it really only a couple of hours ago?

The space behind the chimney breast is warm; the bricks almost hot from the heat of the fire in the kitchen two floors below. I pick up the discarded throw and wrap myself once more, leaning my ear against the bricks and soaking up their warmth. So much has happened, and I just can't process it all. The one vampire who could have helped me understand the purpose of my creation desired only my destruction and is now dead in my place. Too much of my talent has been revealed to too many people; my ability to keep a low profile is going to be tested over the next months and years. And Edward has hinted that the Volturi are a threat to the Cullens – would they offer me up to protect themselves?

And then there's Esme. How can Carlisle allow our friendship to continue, having seen what it did to Evie and Saskia's relationship?

I sit for an hour, maybe more, with all these thoughts churning around my head. I am dimly aware of voices downstairs – the Cullens doing their best to get on with their own things and give me space, I think. The drumming of the rain on the roof tiles above me becomes more persistent, makes me restless once more. The muted light of a grey dawn is creeping under the eaves by the time I reach a decision and crawl out of my sanctuary. Trying to keep my intentions hidden, I think instead about going to play the piano. To my satisfaction, it begins to play by itself, a nice little piece by one of Bach's sons that I used to enjoy on the spinet. To my amusement, my phantom pianist stumbles at exactly the same tricky semi-quaver passage that I used to.

I drop silently through the hatch, then glide just as noiselessly down the two flights of stairs to the front entryway. After pausing with my hand on the latch to check I am un-noticed, I open the door and let myself out, closing it gently behind me. Still calmly, almost nonchalantly, I stroll across the lawn to the tree-line, ignoring the pounding rain that soaks me almost instantly. Only when I am out of sight of the house do I break into a sprint.

I quickly pick up Saskia and Evie's trail, heading west. I have no intention of encountering them again if I can help it, so I veer north, back towards the Wolverine Mountains. I've decided to go right up into the Arctic Circle for a while, as far away from other vampires as I can get. Besides, I quite fancy hunting polar bears and maybe some of the larger, aquatic mammals. The nights are drawing in fast – there is little shelter up on the ice field, but soon there will be little sunlight, either, to expose my Immortal flesh.

The rain has stopped and the sun is nearing its apex when I realise that I am not alone. Another vampire is shadowing me, just far enough back that I can't tell who it is. But he or she behaves like they want to approach me – when I slow; they slow, when I speed up so do they. They are keeping a respectful distance and waiting my permission to draw near. For a long time, I pretend to ignore my pursuer. Eventually I veer a little north-easterly, and note that they do the same. Then I double back sharply, forcing them to back up to maintain the space between us. But in so doing, I manage to cross his trail – it's Jasper!

Reaching a small clearing made by a fallen spruce, I jump up onto the mossy trunk to give myself a height advantage, then turn and wait.

Moments later, he emerges from the south, stepping delicately between the ferns and pausing several feet from me. We make eye contact briefly, then he drops his gaze deliberately, rounding his shoulders and holding his hands limply by his side, palms towards me. He is displaying proper vampire etiquette, making it clear he is no threat.

Unlike me, he is dressed appropriately for the weather, in wax jacket and hiking boots, and he has a medium-sized rucksack on his back. I, on the other hand, stand bare-footed in the cargo pants that Esme repaired and a thin blouse. I am still soaked to the skin from the earlier rain. Despite the fact I cannot truly feel the cold, I shiver slightly.

Jasper notices, and holds his arms out to me. Unable to resist the invitation, I spring lightly from the fallen trunk and into his embrace.

"Silly girl," he murmurs into my hair, "You didn't think this through first, did you?"

"It's not a good idea to be caught thinking with Edward around," I respond drily. I tap the strap of his rucksack. "Are you running away from home, too?"

"No. This is for you – Alice knew you were about to bolt, and had it ready."

"She knew? Nobody tried to stop me."

"We promised, didn't we?" He smiles at me, ruefully. _Carlisle_ promised me. I'm pretty sure the others, especially Esme, would have tried to get me to stay.

"So, what now?" I ask. Has he been sent to fetch me back, or what? Because I know, and I'm sure the others do, that if he exerted his influence over me, I would follow him anywhere.

"We need to find some shelter and get you dry," he answers. "I'm under instruction to make sure you're alright and send you safely on your way."

Keeping hold of my hand, he releases me from his arms and begins to lead me back into the forest, uphill into the alpine zone. As the trees become sparser, the terrain becomes rockier, and we soon find a suitable outcrop to tuck ourselves into.

I can stand easily, but Jasper has to kneel. He takes off the rucksack before joining me, and chuckles as he opens it and looks inside.

"Good old Alice," he grins, showing me the towel that had been placed at the very top. She knew I would need that first. A thought occurs to me.

"She didn't know the others were coming." It's a statement, not a question. She would not have allowed herself or her family to be compromised if she could have foreseen Erastus' attack.

"No. It's not always reliable, and she can't always see strangers. And Edward was too preoccupied to hear the others' thoughts until it was too late."

"That's my fault." My voice is a whisper.

Jasper pretends not to hear and takes the towel from me, patting my hair with it.

"You need to put some dry clothes on," he informs me. Again, Alice has done us proud, as the next items from the rucksack are indeed a change of clothing. To my relief, the clothes are practical rather than fashionable – a vest top, sweater and dungarees. Jasper passes them to me, then appears to be waiting, expectantly.

"A lady can't be expected to undress in your company," I tell him, tartly. He mumbles an apology and ducks outside, looking out over the valley so that all I can see is the back of his jeans-clad legs. I shuck the blouse and combats off quickly, rub myself briskly with the towel and pull the clean clothes on. I'm ready in under a minute.

I join Jasper outside and hang the wet clothes over a prickly, scrubby bush. In the afternoon sunlight and fresh breeze, I'm sure they'll dry quickly enough. Then I allow my gaze to follow his. The mountainside falls steeply away from us, into a valley with a long, thin lake at the bottom. The other side of the valley is like this side, rocky but with stunted firs and scrub. Looming up behind that ridge are larger mountains, already snow-capped even though it is still only late September. We can see for miles, the whole area apparently untouched by humans, and the view is absolutely stunning.

"It's beautiful," I whisper, taking his hand. The nearby rocks and tree-trunks glint with the reflected light from our faceted skin. Just like Esme, his flesh is alabaster encrusted with diamonds, and contrasts sharply with my mahogany and gold dust. We stand like this for a while in companionable silence, lost in our own thoughts, until Jasper freezes suddenly, his eyes snapping down to the surface of the lake far below.

Instinctively, I match his stance and quickly pick out what caused his alarm. A small, white boat, hardly bigger than a speck at this distance, emerges slowly from behind a small headland. We're not so secluded, after all.

"I think we ought to stay under cover and rest up until night-fall," he mutters tensely and pulls me under the outcrop without waiting for my response.

Inside, he sits with his back against the back wall, knees up, and pulls me down so that I am seated between his legs, my back against his chest. His hands rest upon his knees, apparently relaxed, but his breathing is shallow, fast, tense. I get the impression he might be getting ready to restrain me – but there's no need. The boat is too far away for the scent of humans to tempt me into a hunt, and anyway, I fed last night. I'm not particularly thirsty. Jasper's the one who hasn't fed, was thwarted in his attempt by Edward…

Oh.

It's not me he's worried about. He needs _me_ to stop _him_ hunting.

To distract him, I pull the rucksack towards me and start to unpack it, exclaiming with pleasure at the things Alice has provided for me. The main pouch has two more pairs of trousers, several tops, a thick Arran sweater, a set of waterproofs and a week's worth of underwear. Literally. The panties, clearly meant for a child, are printed with the days of the week. I show them to Jasper and we both laugh. In the very bottom is a small pair of hiking boots. No doubt Alice has guessed my size exactly. I wouldn't normally bother with shoes, but I'm sure I'll be glad of them on the ice. I put everything back carefully, then begin on the pockets.

They appear to contain gifts, and Jasper patiently explains each one and who it's from as I unpack them. A small mp3 player is from Bella and Edward, loaded with piano music and other pieces they think I might enjoy. There is an e-reader from Carlisle, which Jasper explains is full of text-books and scientific journals in the hope that I might update my education. I'm about to point out my lack of regular access to electricity when I come across a strange box with a wire and connector to fit both the other items. Jasper explains this is a solar cell, state-of-the-art, with which to charge up my gadgets. He carefully shows me how to use them all.

Alice has put in the hair oil and comb that she used to give me my corn-rows and a packet of beads, which she had obviously hoped to add to the braids at some point.

Esme has enclosed a handkerchief on which she has embroidered my name and a small laminated photograph of the Cullen family. I immediately pick out the six familiar faces, then surmise the other two vampires, one dark haired and grinning goofily, the other blonde, beautiful and aloof, must be Emmett and Rosalie. The other two, a young, Native-American man and a woman who looks Immortal apart from her striking, deep brown eyes, must be Jacob and Renesmee. On the back of the photograph is a phone number. These items were folded in a note, which I now turn my attention to. In it, Esme thanks me for coming into her life, wishes me well for the future, and insists that I use the phone number at any time if I need help. In a post script, she also informs me that she has quietly added a few novels to the e-reader for my pleasure.

Jasper taps the phone number.

"When you call, it will go to voice-mail," he tells me. "Just say where you are, and we'll come for you. We give it to all our friends, so they can reach us wherever we move to."

"How often do you check it?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he smiles, "Alice has an uncanny knack for knowing when to pick up messages!"

I finger the handkerchief and a lump comes to my throat. I will miss Esme and Jasper most of all.

"You'll thank everybody and tell them goodbye from me, won't you?" I croak, suddenly hoarse. "Esme especially. Give her a cuddle from me, one of your special ones that make everything better."

"Like this?" he asks, folding his arms around me. I turn so that I can bury my face in his neck and breathe in his musky, soapy fragrance. His jacket is unzipped, so I nuzzle in close against his chest. Even through the material of his shirt, I can feel his uneven, scarred skin. The boat apparently forgotten, he is exuding calm once more.

"That's the one," I murmur.

Jasper seems in no hurry to release me, and we remain like this as the sun sinks behind us, bathing the snow-clad peaks opposite in a pink glow that deepens then fades.

"You know," he says, eventually. "I would run with you for a while, if you ask me to."

I lift my head to look at him.

"Really? What about Alice?"

"Alice just wants to know you're well. She would understand, if I stayed away just for a week or two."

It's tempting. Wrapped up in his arms like this, it seems perfectly natural to want to stay with him a little longer. But he's not mine to keep. And besides, I would not be a good influence on him.

"You can't come with me," I say sadly, tucking myself against his chest again. "We'll come close to humans eventually, and I _will _feed. And there'll be no Edward to stop you joining me."

"I know," Jasper sighs. He's quiet for a few moments, then nuzzles the top of my head.

"You know what you need?" he asks. I don't answer. "You need a mate of your own."

I _humph_ derisively. There's no mate for me. I look like a child. No decent man, Immortal or otherwise, would touch me.

"There is a way for you," Jasper insists, "but Carlisle and Edward must never find out I put this notion in your head, they'd be very… disappointed… in me. To put it mildly."

I gesture that he should go on.

"You need to create your own mate. A teenager; one who is a bit small for their age, like you."

"The others would not approve."

"Of course not. There's a moral issue here – youngsters below sixteen are still very much considered children these days."

We're both quiet, picturing this scenario.

"Of course," Jaspers says, after a while, "in order to do this, you would need to learn control around humans."

"I've had control in the past." Not that much though, not the kind of control needed to create another vampire. "Are you going back tonight?" I add, and he nods slowly.

"I think so. By the way, Alice says, if you're going north, leave the polar bears alone. They're endangered. Ditto the narwhals. Anything with whale in its name, in fact."

"Well, that pretty much leaves seals. They taste too fatty," I grumble.

"There's plenty caribou, too."

"There's no paucity of human, either."

Jasper laughs, then shifts so that I have to sit up properly. It's almost dark outside now, the boat has long gone, and I realise it's time for him to leave me.

We emerge from the overhang, and Jasper helps me with the straps of the rucksack. On me it looks huge, but the weight is nothing. Jasper leans forward suddenly and kisses me chastely on the cheek, then pats his jacket pockets.

"I almost forgot this," he says, producing a small red packet bearing the legend "Imperial Leather." Its fragrance is immediately recognisable – it's a bar of his soap.

"Thank you," I whisper.


	10. Chapter 10 Lost

**_10. Lost_**

The man who passes below me in the street looks a likely candidate. He is too well dressed for this part of town, should not be here, and his demeanour tells me he knows it. His smart, woollen jacket is buttoned all the way to his neck, a cashmere scarf concealing much of his face. He is careful, looking around himself frequently, always aware of what is happening around him. But he is not aware of me. They never are. This place is a depository for the homeless and lost; a cesspit of drugs, prostitution and depravity. A man like him is not here for the drugs; of this I can be certain. But he also ignores the women on the corners and in the shuttered shop doorways, ignores their taunts and cat-calls. What does he want?

Silently, I drop from my perch over the doorway of the off-licence, and begin to follow, a small black shape barely darker than the shadows to which I cling. He crosses the street, and after several beats, I follow. As I mount the opposite kerb, one of the whores spots me and steps forward to block my path.

"Where ya goin', missy?" she slurs, her breath reeking of cheap liquor and rough, bootleg cigarettes. I glare up at her. Her own eyes widen as she notes the crimson in mine. Some instinct cuts through her befuddled mind to warn her to back off, and she steps away quickly.

I glance at the man, but he has not noticed our exchange, is still walking. I move back into shadow as he pauses at the entrance to an alleyway and looks around quickly before he enters – he does not want to be observed. I allow him a count of five, then follow once more.

We are not alone in the alley. Concealed in a doorway, the entrance to a closed-down night club, is a boy, of African origin and surely no more than thirteen or fourteen. He steps out as the man approaches, and I quickly, noiselessly, disappear into the shade of a fire escape ladder some fifty yards away across and down the alley from them.

"You Mickey?" the man asks. The boy nods once. Money changes hands, and a package is pressed into my mark's arms. The boy flicks through the notes as his customer turns away.

"Hey!" he calls in alarm. "This isn't the amount we agreed!"

The man turns back and, without a word, punches the child viciously in the guts. As he strides away, the boy falls to his knees in the doorway, retching and sobbing. I'm horrified – monster though I am, I will not stand to see a child treated in this way. And I know the man is not going to be allowed to live for this. I am not merely going to feed; I am going to take pleasure in making him suffer before I extinguish the light from his eyes.

As the man passes me, I catch the scent from his package – metal, grease and cordite. A gun! Who is making a child peddle weapons? I'm curious, but I need to deal with one thing at a time. With one last, pitying glance at the child in the doorway, I follow the man back down the alley as he retraces his steps. He passes the point I first saw him, then a couple of blocks later, enters a parking lot. He presses a key and the lights on a Mercedes blink.

I streak forward, too fast for human eyes to perceive, and open the rear passenger door to slip in at the same time as he opens his. Before he can react, I reach over the back of his seat and haul him easily into the rear with me. His eyes are wide, his mouth an 'O' of terror as he gazes up at me.

"This is for the child you just assaulted," I tell him. I crush his windpipe to prevent his screams. This means he has three, four minutes at the most before he expires, but I intend to make sure they are the longest, most painful four minutes of his life.

Back at the alley, the boy has disappeared. I pick up his scent, but confusingly, his trail hasn't gone anywhere. It is particularly concentrated around the night club doorway, though, and I surmise he must have gone inside.

I push gently at the door. It's warped, the hinges are rusted and it sticks, leaving me a small gap to squeeze through. Shutting it quickly before the sliver of light can reveal me, I flit down a short flight of steps into a dilapidated reception area. The carpeted floor is sticky and smells of mildew and urine. It is pitch-dark in here, but my immortal eyes adjust quickly. The boy is nowhere in sight but I can hear him, hiding behind the reception desk. He has heard me enter and is trying to hold his breath, but of course I can hear his heart thudding in his chest.

"Hello?" I call out, innocently. He gasps quietly, noting my child-like voice. "I'm lost," I complain, "it's dark in here."

This is a ruse I regularly use on prey, of course. Lost child needs help. But I don't feel like feeding on this one. I try not to harm children, it's considered bad form, and the fact that I have just fed will help my control. Hopefully. I actually want to help him, although I have no idea how. In my pockets, I have a roll of fifties, a wallet, an expensive looking cell-phone and a thick gold wedding band all freshly stolen from my meal. The gold and cell-phone will fetch several dollars, but I'm not naïve enough to think that giving him money will help him much.

"I know you're here, I saw you come in. Please speak to me."

"Go away."

I move silently to the desk and peer over. He is crouched down, his arms over his ears, rocking gently back and forth, heel to toe, heel to toe. He is clearly very distressed.

"I'm lost," I try again.

He starts, not expecting to hear me so close, and jumps to his feet. He is glaring in my general direction, but of course, he is blind in this darkness.

"It's not safe for you here," he responds. "Go find a cop."

His voice is surprisingly deep and husky for one so small, and his accent is strange – he doesn't sound like the other African-Americans round here. There is more than just a hint of French-Canadian there, I think, but underneath, something else I can't identify. He doesn't look African-American either, but it's more to do with his bearing than his appearance - nothing I can really put my finger on. He wasn't born on this continent; that can be the only explanation. I wonder what brought him all this way, to this hole and this set of circumstances.

"I can't. I ran away," I tell him. He doesn't respond to this immediately, and I wonder if I'm losing my touch. Maybe it's his age. An adult would not leave a lost child struggling, but he's so young himself – maybe he merely finds me irritating. I'm about to try another tack when a noise from the alley catches my attention.

"Someone's coming!" I hiss. He groans in fear.

"Hide in here, quick," he answers. As I slip behind the counter, he rises to his feet, just as the door is prised open once more. The sudden flash of light barely blinds me at all, but the boy (is his name Mickey?) blinks rapidly.

Closing the door behind him and turning on a flashlight, a man descends the steps. I can't tell his age, anywhere under forty, and his body odour precedes him. His dark hair is tied back in a pony tail, and his white shirt has yellowish stains around the arm pits. Apart from this, he looks quite smart, with jeans, leather waistcoat and cowboy boots that click on the steps.

"Yo, Mickey," he calls, leering as his light picks out Mickey's face. "You do it?"

"Yes."

"Where's the money?"

Trembling, Mickey pulls the notes from his jeans and hands them over. Cowboy-boot Man counts the cash quickly, then counts it again.

"Where's the rest?" he demands, drawing himself up to look taller, more menacing.

"I'm sorry," Mickey gulps. "That's all he gave me."

"LIAR! Where is it?"

"I don't have it. Please. I'm really sorry. I screwed up…"

With an angry roar, the man snatches a fistful of Mickey's thick, black hair and hauls him round from the counter. He shakes Mickey so that his teeth rattle.

"_Never _try to short-change me, _boy_," he hisses, and suddenly draws back his fist, delivering a resounding blow to the side of Mickey's head. Mickey drops to the floor, his arms protecting his head, and tries to crawl away.

I want to stop the attack, but I can't reveal myself to Mickey, can't let him see what I am. Cowboy-boot Man is going to pay later, and then some.

Mickey is whimpering as the man delivers two, three, four kicks. The fourth connects with Mickey's head again, and he falls silent. He must be unconscious. But Cowboy-boot Man hasn't finished – he puts the flashlight between his teeth and begins to unbuckle his belt and I can't bear to see what he intends to do next – I fly from my hiding place and leap onto his back. He reels in shock, and we fall to the floor together, the flashlight dropping and going out. He reaches blindly for me, and I reward him with a bite on his wrist. He screams in agony as my venom enters his blood stream. I would like to let him suffer a bit, but there's no time to waste – Mickey could come round at any time, and I can't let him see this. I plunge my teeth into his shoulder and drink deeply. Although I have just fed, his blood is warm and inviting, and I close my eyes with pleasure, drawing harder and draining him within seconds.

Then the flashlight clicks back on, snapping me out of my ecstatic daze.

"What are you doing?" Mickey's face is a mask of horror. Blood oozes blackly from his temple. Quickly, I drop my prey and clamp my hands over my mouth and nose so I can't smell it. But I can't talk like that, either, so I take a breath through my hands then lower them.

"He was hurting you."

"But, you… what _did _you do?"

"It doesn't matter. He won't hurt you now."

Mickey approaches, and I scurry backwards.

"Mickey," I gasp, taking a breath and getting a full hit of his scent. The frenzy is threatening to return, but somehow, impossibly, I remain in control. "Stay back, Mickey. Don't touch me."

"I'm not Mickey. Don't use that name."

I'm momentarily distracted by this.

"What is your name?"

"Jabir. Jabir Mbaye."

"Jabir Mbaye." I repeat. The name is beautiful, it sounds exotic and strong all at once. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Grace."

"Just Grace?"

I think about this for a moment. I've never had a surname, never had a family, except one…

"You could call me Grace Piccoli."

"Sounds Italian. You don't look Italian."

"Adopted."

"Sure. Right." Jabir turns the torch back to the elephant in the room – the corpse. "You did that. How?"

"You really don't want to know."

Jabir rubs his head, frustrated, and winces as he touches the wound. I gag slightly, then pull an old, dirty handkerchief from my pocket and throw it towards him.

"I don't cope with blood too well," I whisper, by way of explanation. He obliges me by cleaning himself up. The handkerchief is simply not up to the job, so he pulls off his shirt and uses that instead, revealing a vest-top underneath. As he works, his eyes are growing heavy, and he yawns several times.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"No. My head hurts. I'm real tired."

"It might be a concussion. We need to get you to a doctor."

"No doctor. I ran away, too."

"Well, maybe if you just rest a bit. See how you feel later."

In response, he simply crumples back to the floor, and within moments, he is snoring. I realise this is not normal, that he is quite sick, but I have no idea what to do. I scout around the night club foyer and follow Jabir's scent through a door at the back into a smaller room. To the left of the door is a hatch opening back into the foyer, and the room has two railings on wheels. On the floor is a bed of sorts; its base made from flattened cardboard boxes, then covered in old Salvation Army blankets. I can tell by the concentration of scent that it's Jabir's bed.

I return to the foyer, and look back toward the hatch. A faded sign above reads "Cloak Room." Emptying my lungs of air, I cease breathing altogether as I approach Jabir. I kick the bloodied shirt away, then bend and lift him easily. He stirs slightly, but doesn't waken. As I carry him through and lay him on his bed, I am reminded suddenly of Nate. There's similarity in the high, flat forehead, and the dark ebony, almost jet, skin.

When I lay him down, he rolls onto his back and snores loudly. I don't like the sound of it; I wonder whether he's struggling to breathe, so I push him onto his side. When I pull his head back, the snoring finally stops. All this time, I haven't taken a single breath myself.

Once satisfied he won't move, I return to the foyer and slip up the steps to force open the door and check the alley is clear. I need to dispose of the corpse before Jabir wakes. Maybe he'll think whatever he saw was some sort of concussion-induced nightmare, and that Cowboy-boot Man is alive and back at his place. Maybe I should disappear, too, and let Jabir think he dreamt me. But as I throw the grisly load over my shoulder and make my way outside, I know I'm not going to do that. I tell myself it's because I need to ensure he doesn't suspect the truth about me, that I haven't broken the _regola unica _and exposed our kind to the humans. But deep down I know it's because I'm curious about him, and I can't help feeling that having saved him once, I'm responsible for his continued survival.

At the furthest end of the alley is a cluster of dumpsters, which I think provide an apt burial for Cowboy-boot Man, so I half empty one, dump the body, then refill it so he is concealed. I return for Jabir's soiled shirt and my handkerchief, and place them in another dumpster. As the handkerchief falls, I see _Grace_embroidered in the corner, the stitching flattened and grimy from years of use, and now somewhat bloody, too. With a sudden pang of regret, I lean over and retrieve it. Maybe I can clean it, mask the scent of blood somehow.

In that moment, I decide I am going to change lodgings temporarily. I want to know more about the boy with the exotic name, and his little den seems just as secluded as mine. I leave this alley and run back to the one behind the off-licence, where a loose window admits me into their dank basement. My whole life is here, in a medium-sized rucksack concealed behind some old, empty crates.

I find what I am looking for in a side pocket – a thin sliver of light brown soap. It still has the sticker saying _Imperial Leather _on it, standing proud as the soap has been used up around it. I take it with the handkerchief to the filthy Belfast sink in the corner with the dripping tap. I turn it on full, but a feeble trickle is all it gives me. I wet the handkerchief and scrub at the blood with the soap. Possibly because the blood is still so fresh, it comes out reasonably easily.

This whole time, I have not breathed, but I now refill my lungs and sniff cautiously at my handy work. The blood is very faint, bearable, and definitely masked by the fragrance of the soap. I cannot help but to remember the strange, gentle vampires that gifted me these things – how many years ago, now? Five? Six? More? And in all this time I have never been in touch with them. It is really not in my nature to hang on to old ties, but I suspect they would have liked the odd progress report from me. The longer I leave it though, the more awkward I feel about contacting them.

I wipe the soap dry against my jeans and replace it in the side pocket of the rucksack, then tie the handkerchief to one of the straps so it can dry. Hoisting the rucksack over one shoulder, I crawl back out of the basement and make my way back to Jabir.


	11. Chapter 11 Choice

**_11. Choice_**

Jabir has rolled onto his back again, but his breathing sounds much more normal; deep and even, no snoring. I place my rucksack in the opposite corner and sit with my back against it, hugging my knees. I cast my eyes around the cloakroom. Jabir is an untidy occupant – his few possessions are scattered around him – a change of clothes, a small photograph in a frame, a CD jewel case containing a writeable CD with the initials Y.N. scrawled across in red marker but nothing nearby to play it with, and a few takeaway foil trays in a pile.

I stare at the photograph. It shows a little boy who could very well be a young Jabir standing between a couple who must surely be his parents. Their clothes are strange – the boy is wearing shorts and tee-shirt, but his mother has a brightly coloured floral dress on and a huge matching scarf wrapped around her head. Her face is lined but friendly, her nose broad and flat like mine. His father is darker, slimmer, narrower about the face – the Jabir lying before me definitely favours his father in appearance. They are standing on red, dusty ground, and behind them is a square, single storey dwelling of similar colour to the ground. The doorway does not appear to have a door, but the edge of some sort of curtain material is visible just inside. All of this, and the bright quality of the light in the picture, makes me think these people are African. I wonder what Jabir is doing, alone in a foreign country without them. Surely an only child in such a situation would be much loved – treasured, even. What has befallen that happy-looking group?

The benefit of my earlier gluttony is already wearing off and his scent is becoming very attractive. But with my nose pressed against my knees, the traces of soap from earlier assaulting my nostrils, I remain in control. The longer I watch, the less I wish to hurt the boy, no matter how strong the pull of his blood. And other alternatives have occurred to me. The reason I have strayed into the city, have been re-learning control around humans, is the vague hope that one day I may find a suitable candidate, some young vampire to befriend, or even a human, if I was strong enough to attempt the transformation, who might one day become my mate. As I watch his slumber, I wonder if Jabir could be the companion that I need.

The whole idea is fraught with difficulty, of course. The venom works quickest if the candidate's own blood is weakened – draining him to near death is the obvious way to achieve this. Have I got the strength to stop? Will my desire to keep him, my simple wish that he not be harmed, be enough to stay me? And if I succeed, might he simply hate and fear me as I did my creator? One thing I do know – if I do this, whomever I do it to, it will be their choice. They will not be snatched from their lives and have this life thrust upon them as it was for me.

Outside, the sun rises and I can hear the rumble of traffic as the city begins to awaken. The tiny rectangle around the door brightens and the light inside increases marginally – to Jabir's weak human eyes, it will still appear pitch dark in this little cloakroom when he awakens. But that tiny crack of light is enough to tell me that the day has dawned bright and sunny – whatever happens now, I am trapped here until nightfall.

Finally, Jabir begins to stir. He rolls onto his side first and mumbles incoherently – some sort of dream, I suppose. I try to remember what I used to dream about, but it was so long ago, I can't be sure. Maybe I dreamt about the life Nate used to conjure up for me.

With a jolt, I realise Jabir's eyes have opened and are staring straight at me – but no. It's not possible for him to see me in this light. After a few moments, he blinks a few times then pulls himself up so that he is sitting. He fingers his sore head and gasps – from the pain or from the memory of last night?

"Grace?" he calls. I hold my breath and remain silent. I am sure he cannot see me, even though I am less than six feet from him. "Grace! Where are you? Come out, I won't hurt you."

I smile to myself at the idea of him hurting me.

"Right here," I respond at last.

He jumps slightly, surprised at my proximity.

"How did I get here?" he asks.

"Here, in your bed, or here, in this situation?" I demand, a little more acidly than I intended.

"What do you mean?"

"I saw what you did last night. What you sold to that other man."

"Oh."

"What I don't know is, _why. _You're not a junkie, like the whores."

"How would _you _know?"

"I would smell it. You're clean. No drugs, no alcohol. You don't even smoke."

"You don't talk like a kid."

"I'm not a kid. You are though. And you look like a nice kid. You don't belong here."

Jabir is quiet for a moment, then he reaches for the flashlight and turns it on, shining it in my general direction until he finds me. I hold his gaze in the light, not bothering to pretend to be dazzled. I'm not going to maintain the human façade for him. He needs to see what he's dealing with.

"You don't know anything about me," he says, sullenly.

"I know you're not African-American. Are you from Canada?"

"Not exactly."

"Exactly where, then?"

"Where are _you _from?"

I sigh. This is not going well.

"I'll do a deal," I tell him. "You answer my questions first. Then we'll swap."

He appears to consider this for a moment. Then,

"Senegal," he tells me.

"Is that in Africa? How'd you get here?"

"When I was eight my parents sent me to live with an 'Aunt' in Hawkesbury. That's in Canada. We do that in my culture, sometimes. Relatives who are doing well abroad take on children to give them a head-start in life. My parents were expected to pay, of course."

"You know this aunt well?"

"Hardly at all. She wasn't really my Aunt, just some sort of second cousin to my mother. We lied about the relationship on my papers. Anyway, the money stopped coming, and she stopped being nice."

"What happened? Why did they stop paying? Why not recall you home?"

"I don't know." His voice is small suddenly, and he looks lost, frightened. Does he think they're dead? I don't know much about Africa – is Senegal one of the countries where they have war or famine? I don't even know where it is.

"So you ran away?" I ask instead.

"No. School noticed I was becoming neglected. When I started skipping classes, they called in Social Services. I got placed in care. I didn't cope, started getting into trouble. Ran away, got placed with new carers each time. Most the time they weren't even Muslim."

"You're a Muslim?" I'm surprised. I haven't met many in my time. Thanks to the e-reader, I learnt something about the tensions between the US and the Islamic nations, and the Piccolis taught me about the Crusades, and that's the limit of my knowledge.

"You have a problem with that?"

"I don't know anything about it."

"You haven't heard of Allah or His Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon him?"

"No."

"Allah is the one, true God."

"God and I are… estranged. We never were on first name terms."

Jabir manages to smile at my joke.

"Where are you from, that you haven't heard any of this?"

"I'll tell you when it's your turn to ask."

"You're bossy, for a little kid."

"You're not so big yourself."

"I'm sixteen."

Older than he looks then. Like me. I start to dare to hope that here might be a kindred spirit.

"I was nearly fourteen, older than I look."

"Was?"

"I'll tell you later."

"When it's my turn to ask. I get it."

Jabir rises to his knees and starts to crawl towards me.

"Don't," I plead and he stops.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure I can cope with having you too close yet. Just trust me on this."

"Do you want to come with me to find some breakfast?" he changes tack, suddenly.

"I can't. I need to stay here. I'm not hungry."

"I need to get breakfast."

I can't bear the thought of Jabir leaving – what if he doesn't come back? What if Cowboy-boot Man has friends out there, and they find him? I can't let him leave.

"Please don't go. Can you wait a while? Talk with me a bit longer?"

Sighing, Jabir sits back on his makeshift bed, mirroring my position, arms around his knees just like me.

"Okay," he says, turning off his flashlight and leaving us in darkness once more. "What else do you want to know?"

"How did you come to New York? How did Cowboy-boot Man find you? Why was he making you deal for him?"

Jabir's face clouds over.

"I got over the border in the back of a truck. You'd be surprised how often that works. Antonio – 'Cowboy-boot Man' – guessed I was an illegal. Made out like he could help a homeless kid like me – gave me food, clothes, a roof – by the time I figured out what he really wanted, I was in his debt, and he had the perfect blackmail."

"What blackmail?"

Jabir stares hard at me.

"Seriously? Illegal immigrant? A _Muslim_ illegal? In New York?"

"Oh."

"So I have to work for him. I'm a runner. I carry messages, make the odd transaction, do the odd deal. In return, I'm allowed to kip here, and he gives me money – enough for food, anyway. It's a living."

Jabir glares at me defiantly, which just serves to make me angry. Is he really that naïve?

"That's not a living!" I snort, scowling at the boy. "It's tantamount to slavery – and I would know! Those people are dangerous, and you're expendable. What if that other man had shot you with that gun instead of just hitting you? I've seen this before – kids in your situation don't have much of a life-expectancy!"

To my horror, he begins to cry. He simply buries his face in his knees and sobs almost silently, his hands fisting each side of his head. He remains like this for several moments until I can bear it no longer; against all my better instincts, I move closer and tentatively reach out to lay a hand against his forearm. He flinches as he registers my hard, cold flesh, but does not try to shake me off. Emboldened, I inch closer still, so that I can stroke his back. I can offer no words of comfort because I dare not breathe to speak. And it needed saying. Antonio is clearly part of some sort of criminal gang, using kids like Jabir so they don't get their own hands dirty. If a deal goes bad, or a rival gang moves in, kids like him are always the first casualties.

Of course, he might not yet survive our meeting, and the irony of this is not lost on me. So I hold my breath, stroke his back silently, and wait.

At last, the sobbing subsides and after a few shuddering breaths, he rubs his arm across his face, fiercely dashing the tears away.

"Sorry," he croaks, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. I can sense the warmth of his blood radiating from his face and scoot back to my original position by my rucksack in response to the sudden stab of thirst.

"Better to be back in care, than letting those men use you," I tell him.

"Better _dead, _than letting them use me," Jabir responds.

I seize my chance.

"Better like me, than letting them use you," I whisper.

The flashlight clicks on as he searches out my face.

"What does that mean?"

"I think you know."

"You said you _were _almost fourteen. How old are you really?"

"More than two centuries."

Jabir nods, slowly. He is trying to appear calm, but I can hear his heartbeat speeding up.

"Your eyes are strange."

I realise he hasn't seen me properly yet, in decent light.

"They're red," I explain.

"You're cold and hard."

"Immortal."

"Immortal like an angel?"

I shake my head.

"More like a demon. I'm a vampire."

His breath catches.

"You – you drank Antonio's blood!"

"Yes."

"Will you drink mine?"

"I don't want to. What I want from you is – more complicated."

"What if I don't want to give you what you want? Will you kill me?"

"No."

"I could walk away now – you wouldn't stop me?"

"I wouldn't stop you."

"Right."

And without another word, Jabir pulls himself warily to his feet and moves to the door of the cloakroom, keeping his flashlight on me the whole time. I remain absolutely motionless as he runs towards the dim outline of the door, stumbles up the steps, and, with the door slamming behind him, is gone.

I am alone in the dark.

There is nothing I can do but wait. It is too sunny for me to leave unnoticed; two centuries of following the _regola unica _is too ingrained for me to even countenance risking it. I wonder what Jabir will do. Is he running for his life? Is he bringing others back to get me? I sincerely hope he isn't – of course, I shall kill them, they'll be no danger to me, but I might have to kill him too, and I will be sorry to do it.

If he hasn't returned by dusk, then I will have to leave. It might be safer to leave New York altogether. I know I am not the only vampire here, and if Jabir spreads a rumour, they may come looking for me seeking revenge if they think their lives here are compromised. I haven't met the others; they are one pairing and one lone vampire. I cross the trails of the pair regularly – they are keeping tabs on my whereabouts, I'm sure. The lone one, like me, simply keeps to himself out in the suburbs, drifting downtown to feed occasionally upon tramps, whores and other sad individuals whose disappearance is rarely noted.

As it happens, I only have to wait around an hour for Jabir's return. I hear him approach the door and can tell immediately he is alone. I tense apprehensively as he wriggles through the smallest opening he can manage – does he think the sunlight will burn me?

"Grace?"

"Still here."

The flashlight clicks on, brighter than before – he's acquired new batteries.

"I've brought food. Do you like chicken?"

"I don't eat, Jabir."

"Sorry. The queue at the blood bank was too long. That's a joke," he adds when I don't respond. He makes his way carefully back to the cloakroom and sits on his make-shift bed once more. I am still silent, and he shines the light on me, his own face concerned.

"What's the matter?"

"I was afraid you had left me."

"Oh." It is his turn to fall silent. We regard each other for several moments, then my eyes drop to the brown paper bag in his hand.

"Your meal is getting cold," I tell him. "Please eat."

I watch as he opens the bag and lifts out a foil tray containing rice and chicken pieces in a yellow sauce that smells strongly of coconut and spices. He eats by tearing apart some sort of flat-bread and using the pieces to scoop the chicken and rice into his mouth. I watch, fascinated. When he is done, he wipes his fingers on a paper napkin from the bag, then draws out a small bottle of soda, which hisses loudly in the gloom as he opens it. His eyes meet mine once more as he raises it to his lips to drink.

"There's a take-away three blocks away," he tells me. "A Pakistani family. Their meat is Halal, though they don't tell their white customers this, of course."

"I don't know what Halal is," I admit.

"It's the Muslim way of slaughtering animals. Certain meats we don't touch – pork, for example."

"Why ever not?"

"Swine are dirty."

I don't see how this can be. Thanks to my daily ministrations, the sow on the plantation lived better than the slaves did. But I don't argue – I know from my own experience caught between Christianity and Voodoo that religion does not have to be based on logic.

"We have a ritual to follow, a prayer, and we slaughter the animal by cutting the throat and letting it bleed out. It's very quick. But it offends Western sensibilities."

"It does seem a waste of good blood," I tell him, my own lame attempt at a joke.

"We never consume the blood," he responds, solemnly.

"That would be offensive to you?"

"To our religion, yes."

"My entire diet is blood. Mostly human. Does that offend you?"

"It should. But I have not observed Halal since I left Senegal. My Aunt was a lapsed Muslim. I already told you my foster parents were rarely sympathetic to the faith."

We are both quiet again while Jabir finishes his drink and tidies the empties away into the paper bag.

"I'm sorry I left you," he murmurs, when he is done. "I needed distance, time to think."

"And where did your thoughts take you?"

"I don't believe you're a monster."

"You watched me murder."

"You were protecting me. You could have had me, too, and you didn't. Are you still not planning to - feed – on me?"

"I never play with my food," I reply. "If I was going to feed, I would just do it. But I'm dangerous to be around. If I lose control for any reason, you will be in grave danger. But I find you fascinating. I don't want to hurt you." My words fall far short of a promise, and I hope he realises this.

"You're really a vampire?"

"Yes."

"The only one?"

"I'm alone. But there are several dozen of us around the world, maybe hundreds. There are three more here in New York, but I don't know them. I'm nomadic, as are many of my kind."

"You drink human blood, like the legends,"

"Yes."

"You were human and you became a vampire. Did another vampire make you?"

"Yes."

"Where is he? Or was it a female?"

"He is dead. He didn't do a very good job, and I was frightened and confused. I destroyed him."

"Oh."

"The Piccolis helped me. They taught me how to live, gave me the skills I needed."

"And they're…"

"Dead, too. Not by my hand that time," I add, hastily.

"Does sunlight burn you?"

"No."

"But you hate it?"

"Actually, I love it. But there's a problem. Come, I'll show you." I get up and gesture with my hand for Jabir to follow. He tries to hold my hand, but I pull away quickly, ignoring the hurt expression that crosses his face.

As we approach the steps to the door, Jabir slows.

"It won't hurt you?" he is asking for reassurance.

"No more than it would harm you. Open it, just an inch or so. Then come here so you can see."

Jabir does as he is asked, then returns to my side, being careful not to stand too close. I extend my arm into the light, and he gasps, as the space around us is lit up by the iridescence of my flesh. Points of golden light sparkle around the walls and ceiling, moving as I turn my arm.

"You're like a disco ball," Jabir breathes, looking around him.

"Impressed?"

"It's beautiful! Your whole body reacts that way?"

"Yes. That's why we avoid sunlight, if there's any chance of being spotted by humans."

"The whole catching fire in the sun is a myth?"

"Absolutely. But myths have a grain of truth. Maybe the iridescence looked like fire, and the story grew."

Jabir smiles, and holds up his own arm.

"It's certainly more impressive than my tattoo," he announces. I look at his forearm. There is indeed a small tattoo, a symbol الله أكبر

"What is it?"

"Arabic. It says Allahu Akbar. Allah is Greater."

"Greater than what?"

"Anything. Everything. I had it done when the family before last made us all wear armbands that read WWJD – what would Jesus do? I decided that Jesus the _Prophet_ – as he is in the Qur'an, our Bible – would have got a tattoo in homage to Allah!"

"What did they do, when they found out?"

"They were upset. It's used as a sort of war-cry by Jihadists – you've heard of those?"

I nod. They were in the histories Carlisle gave me.

"So, they called social services; I was out of there before supper."

"Well, I like your tattoo. It shows spirit. And they were disrespectful in the extreme, forcing their beliefs on you."

Jabir has turned his attention back to my arm.

"Can I touch?"

I nod once, stop breathing and hold myself absolutely still as he reaches out. His fingers gently caress my arm, points of light from my own flesh reflecting on his. His fingers are hot, and I can feel his pulse in the end of each one, sending a thrill through me. I take a step back, out of his reach, and the light display is over. His eyes meet mine, and he gasps in alarm, reeling back involuntarily.

"Your eyes _are_ red," he mutters in explanation. "Sorry. I don't know why it took me by surprise like that."

"I'm a predator. Your instincts would have you back off if you suddenly found yourself face to face with a lion, too."

Jabir nods. "You don't like being touched," he observes.

"I do. But you're testing my self-control too much."

Jabir returns to the door and closes it. He sits on the steps, and I sit beside him, not too close, although I am aware of his body heat.

"Show me your fangs," he asks suddenly.

"No fangs."

"Oh."

"You're disappointed? I do have a venomous bite, though. It's useful stuff. With it, I can paralyse my prey then heal the bite wound so the cause of death is undetectable. And, if I choose to, I can use it to create a new vampire."

I turn to look into his eyes. They are the darkest brown I have ever seen, almost black. The whites are actually slightly beige in colour, and his eyelashes are very long. I wait patiently while he processes what I have told him.

"Is this why you haven't killed me?" he asks, eventually.

"Not really. I felt sorry for you at first, when that man… and afterwards it occurred to me, that maybe, if you were like me, we could be friends."

"I see." He stands up and moves back to the cloakroom. He has clearly lived here some time, that he doesn't need the flashlight to find his way. In the doorway, he turns to face me again. I have remained on the steps.

"Why didn't you just do it last night, while I was out of it?"

"It's not easy. I might have killed you in the attempt. And the transformation is the most excruciating process. The venom courses through your bloodstream, slowly changing you from the inside outwards. When it reaches your heart, that's the worst pain of all. And while that's happening – it takes two to three days, but feels like eternity – I will have to watch as you scream in agony. I'm told most victims beg for death. I believe I did, though no one was there to listen to me. If I have enough control to bite, but not feed, I will then need the callousness you let you suffer, to let the venom do its work. After all that, you may well hate me, and be right to do so."

I pause a moment.

"How could I do that to you, without you understanding what I was asking of you, without giving you the choice?"

"Were you given the choice?"

"No."

"Maybe that's why you killed him. Would you choose to be like this now?"

"I don't know. I'm not ashamed of what I am. But I wouldn't voluntarily put myself through that pain again, either."

"And yet you're offering me that pain?"

"That's the dilemma."

"What do I get out of it?"

"You get out of here, out of being a homeless illegal. You get immeasurable strength, power, speed, immortality. And _me._ If you still want me afterwards. But you'll also be a blood-drinker. And I think neither God nor Allah will want you. You'll be a condemned demon, like me."

"What do you get out of it?"

"If I succeed? If you don't die or hate me afterwards? You. Friendship. Companionship." I don't dare tell him my true wish, that one as young as he is might be able to love me, one day.

Jabir's breath catches, his eyes wide in the darkness.

"And if I say no?"

"At dusk, I'll leave. You won't see me again. But promise you won't go back down that path, to the gangs. Don't let Antonio's people find you. Go back to Canada. Finish school. Be somebody."

"I don't want you to go."

"You're making me thirsty. And it's getting worse all the time. We can't remain friends, if you remain human."

We are both silent for several long seconds. Jabir looks like he is wrestling internally with his thoughts. Finally, his voice so husky and quiet it barely sounds, he says,

"I choose you."

"Pardon?" I hardly dare give room to the hope swelling in my chest.

Jabir paces carefully back towards me. I stand up warily, not daring to breathe as he places his hands on my shoulders and gazes steadily into my eyes.

"I choose you. Your life. Make me like you. I want to become a vampire."


	12. Chapter 12 Pain

**_12. Pain_**

"It's nearly sunset."

Jabir is by the window, gazing out, apprehensively. I stop fiddling with the straps on my rucksack and stare hard at him, waiting for him to turn and meet my eyes.

"You can change your mind. Just say," I tell him, when I have eye contact. He shakes his head.

"No, I want this. But…" he pauses as if to gather his thoughts and I wait silently. I want him, so badly, this intense, foreign boy, but only if he wants to be with me. What I am about to put him through is really unforgiveable, it is the most self-serving, evil thing I could ask of him, and yet here he is, offering himself to me willingly. If he has any second thoughts, any worries, he must tell me. I can't – I won't – do anything until he is ready.

"Sunset," he explains eventually, "is one of our times for prayer. I have moved away from Allah, become estranged, as you say. But I think I should pray one last time, make peace with Him, if that's possible."

"Alright," I tell him. "I need to pop out, anyway. How long do you need?"

"'Pop out?'"

Well, there's no point sugar-coating this. _If _he even survives transformation, this will be his life too, and he needs to understand what that entails.

"I'm going to hunt. If I'm not thirsty, _maybe _I can manage this without killing you."

"Oh." He blinks, chagrined.

"Sorry," my voice softens. "I didn't mean to put it so harshly. I just – I've never tried this, and if I fail, you'll – you'll die."

"Do you want to change _your_ mind?" Jabir asks me. His expression holds nothing but kind concern, which makes me feel even guiltier.

"No. But I wish I could do this without hurting you. If Allah is listening, Jabir, you should ask Him for strength. You'll need it."

I can't meet his gaze any longer, so I turn and slip out.

The half-built apartment complex stands at the very edge of a small town called Flemington, outside of New York. The building work was abandoned as the recession deepened. We are surrounded by fields with few neighbouring properties, and no likelihood of being disturbed. I discovered this place several months ago while drifting aimlessly, and thought at the time this might provide a suitable refuge, if ever I had the chance to create a vampire. When it is time, we are going to lock ourselves into the basement where we will be neither seen nor heard.

I follow the edges of the fields, staying out of sight as much as possible. The sun is just about down now, and with the weak cloud cover, it is gloomy enough for me to be inconspicuous, but I'm not taking any chances. Eventually I find myself in the industrial part to the south of the town, and in the almost-deserted parking lot of an office block I find my target.

It must be Sunday because the offices are closed, and the only vehicle is a huge, articulated lorry, a real monster truck, with the curtains around the cab firmly drawn. The occupant is taking a rest break, and there is no one else around. I listen carefully to the breathing, and when I am certain he is sleeping deeply, I clamber up and try the passenger door handle. It is unlocked. I shake my head at the gentleman's carelessness, and let myself silently in.

On a shelf behind the bench seat, under a grubby duvet, my prey snores quietly. He is huge, about six feet tall and overweight – easily three hundred pounds, I'm sure. This is good news for me, he represents a large feed. I creep soundlessly over the back of the bench and crawl into the bed beside him. He is completely unaware of his interloper, and remains oblivious as I expose his underarm and sink my teeth in to feed.

When I return almost two hours later, Jabir is still praying. He has taken my towel from the rucksack and is using it as a prayer mat. It is angled strangely, at about thirty degrees to the window, and he is on his knees prostrate, his head right down on the towel. I realise I am disturbing something very private, but can't resist watching. Jabir does not move for a long time. I wonder if he is meditating.

At last he kneels upright, his eyes still closed, his lips moving in silent prayer, and I move back out of sight of the doorway, not wanting to be caught. I wait a beat, cough quietly, then peer round the doorway once more. Jabir's eyes are now open and he smiles when he sees me.

"Hello," he murmurs, and gestures at my towel. "I hope you don't mind me using this."

I shrug, and move forward to sit cross-legged on the towel facing him. Our knees are almost touching, and inwardly I am marvelling at my restraint. I reach out cautiously to place my hand over one of his, and gaze up into his eyes. He stares back impassively. It is night now, but the sky outside is bright in the moonlight, and he can just about see me.

"Your hand is a little warmer," he observes.

"From the blood. It wears off quickly."

"The person you – fed from – did they suffer?"

"No. He was asleep and I was gentle. I can teach you to pick your prey carefully, and to feed without causing pain. But Jabir," I squeeze his hand gently then let go. "You may not be the same person when you wake up. You might not care any more about these people than about the meat you eat now. Your thirst might make you cruel."

"You're not cruel."

I shut my eyes, frustrated.

"Yes, I am. Frequently. Two nights ago, I hurt the man who assaulted you, who short-changed you even though he must have known you would be punished for it. I wanted to punish him for what I witnessed, and he suffered greatly. All he did was buy a gun and hit a child."

"Did you want to punish me?" Jabir looks dismayed.

"No! You looked so lost – I wanted to help you, somehow."

"You _have_ helped me."

"Well, now I'm asking far too much of you in return."

"Assuming I survive the change – what's the worst that can happen?"

"Apart from being dead? You could hate me. You could destroy me like I did my creator, and then you'll be an untrained new-born, an un-controlled killer."

"Were you like that?"

"Yes. In a time when population was sparser and I could do less damage, but yes, I was. It was fortunate that the Piccolis found me."

Jabir nods. We have discussed all this exhaustively. All the first day while we waited for dusk, then all last night as we travelled here, and all today holed up in the half-completed apartment, we told each other our life stories. Jabir's early life in Senegal interested me the most, and I pumped him mercilessly for details, fascinated by the homeland of which I had been deprived.

His patient answers, his vivid descriptions, were a lifesaver although I doubt he was aware of it – at this time we were travelling on a night-bus out of New York. I had never been on a bus before, and the intimacy of Jabir on the seat beside me and the combined scents of the other passengers in such a confined space almost proved too much for me. By holding myself very still, eyes closed, concentrating hard on Jabir's words so I could picture his early home, I somehow distracted myself enough to deny the burning thirst in my throat.

For his part, Jabir was understandably interested in the mechanics of becoming a vampire, and I had described as best I could what I could remember, sparing no details. I have tried my hardest to prepare him for what lies ahead, but still I'm apprehensive. None of what he must endure will come to pass if I don't have the self control in the first place.

Jabir jumps to his feet suddenly, his face set with resolve. He reaches down to help me up, so I take his hand and rise fluidly, eyeing him anxiously. He squeezes my hand, reassuringly.

"Look at you," he whispers. "Two days ago, you were afraid even to be in the same room as me. Now we're holding hands like old friends. You _can_ do this. You're fed; you're as strong as you're going to be. I want to go now. Let's do this thing."

I love his accent, the way he doesn't quite pronounce _th_ properly; _let's do dis ting. _And I realise that just maybe, I'm a tiny bit in love with him. And he's so willing to put his fate in my hands – is it possible he could feel the same way? Is it possible this could actually work?

Jabir does not release my hand as he leads me from the room and toward the stairwell. I follow him meekly down into the basement, where everything is laid out ready. Earlier Jabir used the roll of money from Antonio to visit a camping shop where he picked up bed rolls, sleeping bags, hand-wound lanterns, a length of rope and other paraphernalia he thought might be useful. I don't like to speculate on why he thought we might need rope. I let go of his hand and move quickly to turn on the lanterns – it is nearly dark as pitch down here. As soon as he can see, Jabir closes and secures the door behind us.

I become still in the dim lantern-light, waiting for him to say when. Only my eyes move as I follow his progress around the room, checking his things, removing his new shirt (also purchased at the camping shop), preparing himself mentally.

At long last, after adjusting the bedding for the fourth time, he moves to stand in front of me. He takes a deep, calming breath.

"I'm ready now," he murmurs.

"You might die."

"We've been through this."

Jabir kneels in front of me and bends his head to one side, exposing his neck. I smile, despite the tension.

"I'm not Dracula. Give me your arm."

Kneeling myself, I take the proffered left hand, then snuggle into Jabir's chest to give myself access to his underarm. He gasps, from the coldness of my flesh, or the unexpected intimacy, I don't know, but his right arm closes around me in an embrace.

His skin is hot through his vest and his heart thuds in my ear. I have not breathed since we came down here, but now I inhale gently, closing my eyes as his fragrance envelops me. Instinct takes over, and without another word passing between us, I sink my teeth into his soft flesh and begin to feed.

The fact I am already sated is a huge help – somehow, I resist the desire to give myself to the frenzy and remain fully aware throughout. As Jabir falls into unconsciousness and sinks onto his sleeping bag, I know I have taken enough blood and I must stop.

But I can't – I just don't want to!

His heart hammers in protest at the assault, serving only to pump his blood faster into my throat, and I groan with pleasure.

Jabir's hand flutters helplessly at my back, and with horror I realise his heart rhythm has also changed, is also fluttering. This realisation snaps me back to my senses, and somehow, impossibly, I find the will to stop. Venom begins to flow into my mouth, ready to heal the wound and disguise the attack, but instead, I bite him just inside his elbow, injecting the venom directly into his veins. I carry out this process on his right arm, both thighs, his abdomen, repeatedly, until my mouth is dry and I can do no more.

With each fresh bite, Jabir convulses in agony. The shock of the first injection brings his heart rhythm back, and he feebly tries to push me away, but I know these attempts at defence are merely reflexive and ignore them.

His screams are much harder to ignore, and I feel horror and revulsion at myself as I gaze down at his contorted face, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his neck stretched taut, tendons showing. No wonder Reuben ran all those years ago, who could face watching this? But I can't do that to Jabir. He has surrendered himself to me willingly, and I owe him my continued presence and whatever comfort I can give.

I wipe away the spittle that is foaming around his mouth with my cuff, then settle myself on the bed roll beside him. Just as Esme did for me when I was in pain, I hug against his back so that his head rests against my left arm, while I restrain him with my other arm around his arms and torso and my legs wrapped around his. He struggles ineffectually against me for a short while, then subsides, but the convulsions give him no relief – every few seconds a fresh shudder passes through him and he screams in response.

This carries on for hour after hour. Between the convulsions, he mumbles, incoherently I think at first, until I realise he is speaking French.

"M'aider," he hisses. _Help me_.

"Shh, mon chéri," I whisper, "Il sera bientôt fini." _It'll soon be over._ Then another spasm takes him and he is screaming once more.

"Faire cesser," he whispers later._ Make it stop._

"Je ne peux pas," I reply. "Vous devez avoir le courage." _You must have courage._

"Non, pas le courage. Faire cesser."

"Je peux pas." _I can't._

"S'il vous plaît!" _Please!_

I am trapped in my own personal hell between his screams and his quiet pleading, but I won't leave him. The lanterns start to go out one by one, but I won't leave his side even long enough to wind them up again. There is only one close enough for me to grab, although Jabir moans in pain as I reach for it. Soon we are confined to the weak glow from this solitary light, making the space seem small and claustrophobic.

I begin to lose any sense of time, my world has constricted to feeling his agonised convulsions and his quieter begging, in the pool of light which dims periodically so I have to wind it again.

At one point, I decide to ignore the lantern, to let us remain in darkness, but Jabir becomes afraid, and calls out to me in a moment of near lucidity;

"Grace!"

"Right here, chéri."

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here." I squeeze harder so he can feel me, and realise his limbs have become as cold and hard as my own. His head and torso, however, are hot and feverish, and his heart beats hard and fast as it fights its losing battle against the venom.

"Talk to me," he begs. In the dim light of the hastily rewound lantern, I whisper to him of my adventures as a vampire, the mischief I got up to when I lived with the Piccolis. Then I tell him all about the _Regola Unica,_ and the proud, haughty Volturi who protect the law and our way of life. Occasionally he responds, asks questions, sometimes in English, sometimes French, and I respond in kind. But the spasms are never far away, and each one strikes him as hard as the first. While he screams, I rock him and sing him the only French nursery rhyme I know, as he appears to take the most comfort when we are conversing in French.

Then, after an eternity, his heartbeat spirals out of control then stops abruptly and after one final, shattering paroxysm, his body sags and becomes absolutely still.

Horrified, I scuttle away to a corner, and wait wide-eyed to see what will happen next. At first there is no movement, no rise and fall of his chest, not even a flicker of an eyelid, and I begin to fear that the change hasn't worked, that he has in fact, died.

Then his eyes snap open, and the air whooshes into his lungs as he takes a huge breath and sits up.

"Grace?" he calls out.

"Right here," I say, but his clear, ruby eyes have already found me, and we gaze at each other solemnly for a long time. Then his eyes appear to lose focus, and he concentrates instead on something in the air between us. I follow his gaze, my eyes tightening their focus until I work out what has him so mesmerised – he has noticed the dust motes floating in the air, glinting in the dim lamplight. He reaches out as though to catch one, then gasps as he catches sight of his own hand. He has retained his beautiful ebony colouring, but now his flesh is absolutely flawless. I cannot fail to notice his musculature, which is perfectly proportioned through his biceps and triceps and across to his pectoral muscles, down his abdomen and legs. Leonardo Da Vinci himself could not have drawn a more perfect example of manhood.

I marvel at this – Jabir must already have been on the cusp of adulthood, for his body to have shed all traces of childish softness and appear so toned. I, on the other hand, retained my childlike roundedness, leaving me smaller and marginally weaker than other vampires.

"You're perfect," I whisper, and his eyes snap back to mine. He looks wary, uncertain, and I realise he is only matching my own stance. I try to relax, but I'm so anxious. What is he thinking? Does he hate me for the torture he has just been through?

"What's wrong?" He asks, eventually, then claps his hands to his mouth, amazed at the sonorous clarity his voice has taken.

"Was it awful?" I respond. "The change? Did you suffer too much?"

"It was everything you said it would be." He pauses, thoughtfully. "And yet, infinitely worse than anything I could have imagined."

"I'm sorry. Do you hate me?"

"No! I could never hate you! All that time, all that pain, somehow, I knew I'd be okay because you were there, reassuring me."

"Do you remember much?"

"No – yes! I remember how you spoke to me. In French." He chuckles suddenly. I tilt my head questioningly.

"Are you aware you speak French with an Italian accent?" he smirks.

I stare at him, at a loss for words– what can I say to that? Then Jabir frowns and swallows.

"My throat," he whispers.

I rise to my feet, and he follows, momentarily taken aback at his own speed and grace as he does so.

"You're thirsty. We need to do something about that. Are you ready?"

It's Jabir's turn to look anxious now.

"I'm not sure," he admits.

"What's worrying you?"

Jabir shakes his head.

"No," I insist, "if I'm to help you, you must be honest with me, tell me everything. What are you afraid of, right now?"

Jabir stares at the ground, trying to choose his words. "What if you can't control me?" he asks at last. "If I can't control myself, how will you stop me?"

"I'll stop you."

"How? You're so… small. I'm stronger than you - somehow, I know this." As if to prove his point, he steps forward suddenly and grasps my wrist. He squeezes just hard enough that I can't break free, and gazes down at me levelly. We both know he is not using his full strength yet.

"How will you stop me?" he demands again.

"Don't be afraid," I tell him. "Know that I will _never _use this to hurt you."

And his eyes widen with disbelief as I _flex _gently, and one by one, his fingers release me.

"How did you do that?" he gasps.

"I don't know. It's a talent. Some vampires have talents, and mine seems to be to lift or move things. If I had to, if I had to protect you, or stop you, I could lift your whole body, just with a thought."

"You didn't tell me before."

"I try to keep it secret. There are those that would use a talented vampire for their own ends, and my parents taught me to control it and keep it hidden. But I am your creator, and as you say, I need the strength to control you, so you must know what I can do. And, I trust you; I don't want to keep secrets from you."

Jabir just nods, in that way that is becoming familiar, as he takes this in.

"Do I have a talent?"

"I don't know. Talents are rare. And some are immediate and obvious, while others take time to manifest, or are just too subtle. How's that thirst?"

And I smile as he winces and rubs his throat.


	13. Chapter 13 First Feed

**_13. First Feed_**

I think that maybe Jabir should spend a little time becoming familiar with his new body first, so I take him further away from town across the fields towards woodland. I genuinely have no idea how much time has passed since his transformation began, but I can judge the time of day. It is night-time, but only just; to the east I perceive a slight lightening of the sky. Dawn is not so very far away. Of course, darkness is no obstacle to vampire vision, and we make slow progress as Jabir marvels at everything around him. He can hear the tiny, scurrying night creatures that freeze as we pass, then resume their activity behind us. He can hear the bats around the hedges, and frequently pauses to watch. They are fascinating; in the way that their seemingly random fluttering seems always to bring them into the path of moths and other winged insects which they snatch effortlessly out of the air with barely a pause in their wing beat.

Impulsively, Jabir reaches up to catch one, and gasps in amazement when he succeeds. His refined senses enable him to trap the bat harmlessly, cradling it gently so he can admire it, while it squeaks angrily and nips unsuccessfully at his thumb. After a moment he opens his hand and it flaps away drunkenly. He cocks an eyebrow at me, and grins sardonically.

"No," I respond, crossly. "Vampire talents do not extend to changing into bats!" And he laughs, because that is exactly what he was thinking. Then he stops abruptly, astonished by the deep, resonant quality of his laughter. I sigh impatiently and grab his hand. I'd like to feed and return to our base before it gets light – at the moment, the sky is clouded over, but we can't count on the sun remaining hidden indefinitely. In my experience, cloud cover like this often burns off by mid-morning.

In the woods, I spend a short time showing him how to run, weaving between the trees, then leaping into them, adding the dimension of height to our travelling capabilities. He is delighted with this, and excitedly tries to describe the delights of a sport called parkour to me, but I'm too impatient to feign interest for long. I am sniffing the air, trying to encourage him to do the same, picking up the faint trails of human traffic, hoping for a fresh trail that may lead us to a solitary traveller and convenient meal.

At last I find what we are looking for; disused outhouses on a farm a good half a mile away from the nearest occupied home. I halt and Jabir walks into the back of me, his eyes skyward, no doubt marvelling at something in the tree canopy above us.

"Concentrate, Jabir!" I hiss. "What can you smell?"

"Oh!" he gasps, as his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. "That's… pungent!"

"It's a tramp. I doubt he's washed for a while. Now, inhale deeply. And just follow your instincts."

But I'm talking to myself because Jabir has already dropped into a hunting crouch and is stalking towards the nearest shed, where his prey sleeps. I turn and follow at a respectful distance – I don't want Jabir to think he has competition; I want a quick and uneventful kill.

As a result, when I get into the shed, it's already over. Jabir is knelt beside the still form, his eyes closed. He has fed from the neck, a classic school-boy error, and blood is dripping down his chin as a result because the jugular always pumps so hard; it is not always possible to drink fast enough to catch all the blood cleanly. My own throat spikes with desire at the sight, but I suppress the feeling. Jabir needs to finish the job.

"Jabir," I say sharply, and he opens his eyes to stare at me, looking pained. "Lick the wound," I remind him. "You have to heal it before we can leave."

"I did it," he whispers. He swipes his brow with his arm, looking distressed. I'm at his side in an instant.

"What is it?" I put my arm around him, my earlier impatience forgotten at the sight of his wretchedness.

"I just thought, when it came down to it, I could never kill, but…" he leaves his sentence hanging.

"Instead, it comes so easily," I finish for him.

"Are we monsters?"

"No more than the lion or the eagle. Or other humans, for that matter. You ate meat – did the demise of the individual animals that fed you ever give you pause for thought?"

Jabir doesn't answer, lost in his own ruminations.

"We're just predators," I tell him gently. When he still doesn't move, I lean forward to carry out the necessary. I feel a delicious frisson as I lick the neck, removing the last traces of blood, allowing my venom to wash over the teeth marks and heal them. Jabir shudders beside me. Turning back to him, I gently take his hand, placing his fingers against his chin so he becomes aware of the blood there. He wipes his chin clean and licks his fingers sheepishly.

"Your first kill," he murmurs, eventually. "Was it as hard as this?"

"Worse," my voice cracks slightly at the memory. "I loved the person I fed from."

"Nate."

"Nate. If Reuben hadn't left me, if I had understood – I might never have gone back there. Nate would have grown into a fine man, found someone else to share his dreams with."

"At least I have you," Jabir whispers, leaning his head against my shoulder. I stiffen briefly, stunned – how did I, of all people, become cast in the role of parent? – then shrug mentally and put my arms around him, pressing my lips to his hair and inhaling his dark, spicy Jabir scent. We sit like this for some time. Eventually, Jabir turns his head slightly, rubbing his nose against my throat. He freezes.

Tracing a finger along my collar bone, he asks,

"How did you get these scars?" He straightens up to look at me, frowning.

"I was attacked by my old coven. They tried to destroy me. I was helped by others. They put me back together, looked after me while I healed."

"Why?"

"Why what? Help me?"

"No. Why would the others hurt you?"

I sigh.

"It's complicated," I tell him. "First of all, there was a bit of jealousy, I think – amongst vampires, three can be a crowd – then they met up with an old friend of theirs. Turns out he was Reuben's mate. The attack was revenge for what I did to him."

"And this happened, when?"

"Recent. Less than a decade ago. I was looked after well, healed nicely."

"But you destroyed Reuben over two centuries ago!" Jabir is clearly shocked.

"That's something you need to be aware of about our kind," I tell him wryly. "We live a long time, and we know how to hold on to a grudge!"

"And what became of them, the ones that attacked you?"

"Erastus, Reuben's mate, is dead. He followed me to the Cullens, the vampires who helped me. When he could not be appeased, when he tried to finish the job…" I break off, letting Jabir guess the rest for himself. "The other two, my old coven, I made peace with. More or less. The friendship is over, I think, but they don't wish me any further harm. Like I said, it's complicated."

I stretch and climb to my feet. Jabir follows suit.

"It'll be light soon," I tell him. "I think we should go back."

I head outside, and after one more rueful glance at the corpse, Jabir follows. As we get outside, he sniffs the air and stares off into the distance. The farm house is hidden from view, but I know that's where he's looking – I have also picked up the scent. I explored this area thoroughly weeks ago, and I remember the swing in the yard, and the four distinctive scents. It's the male we can smell right now – he was here just days ago.

"No, Jabir," I say, quietly. "They have a young family. We don't touch children." I take hold of his hand and mentally prepare myself to restrain him as his pupils begin to dilate, but to my surprise, he simply nods and marches off in the other direction, pulling me alongside him, back into the woods.

"I'm proud of you," I say, squeezing his hand. He looks down at me, his expression dark and pained. I realise he has stopped breathing, cutting off the scent. Without another word, I lead him through the woods and back over the fields towards home. Only when we are back inside does he relax and begin to breathe once more.

"I'm not a monster," he tells me, simply.

"No, of course you're not. Please don't think that way."

"Is it part of the One Rule?"

"Not preying on children? These days, sort of. Old tramps die all the time, his death will not be suspicious – but a whole family? Now, with the media, our kind has to be very careful. But in the old days, when infant mortality was so high, that would not have been a consideration. I'm afraid the real reason, the reason most vampires choose not to feed on children, is much more pragmatic. It's the same reason fishermen throw back little fish."

"So they can catch them as big fish later, after they've bred?"

"Exactly."

Jabir looks thoughtful again, frowning at me speculatively.

"You thought I was a child, didn't you? Is that what saved me?"

"To begin with," I tell him carefully. "I suppose yes, that had a lot to do with it. Then when I found out that, like me, you're a lot older than you appear, I became curious."

"I'm glad you found me," he says. "Where I was headed – that was a dark place."

"Yes, it was."

Jabir breaks eye-contact first, looking around the room. It's light outside, but the sun is behind cloud for now.

"What do vampires do all day?" he asks, eventually. "Do we need to go down into the basement?"

"Only if somebody comes. We have the run of the place for now."

Jabir swallows and winces.

"I'm thirsty already."

"I know. We'll put that right as soon as it's dark again." Subtly, I alter my stance, make myself straighter, taller. New-born thirst is dangerous. If I do not establish myself as the dominant vampire, keep him in check, we are lost. This I learned in the care of the Piccolis, but somehow it's instinctive, too. I am the creator of this new-born – he is mine to control.

"I need to feed now."

"No, Jabir. You have to learn to wait."

"I CAN'T!" he roars, baring his teeth in a snarl. He crouches, ready to leap at me, and glares at me, panting, daring me to react. I respond by drawing myself as tall as I possibly can, then stepping closer to glower down at him. I bare my own teeth, and a growl rumbles deep in my throat.

"Don't argue with me, Jabir," I warn him, my voice low and threatening.

Jabir widens his eyes at me, matching my threat.

"_You don't look at me like that!" _I snarl, stepping even closer so we are almost touching. My own rage is now barely under control. Fortunately, Jabir recognises this, and his own instincts take over. His eyes drop, his shoulders sag, and he sinks down so that he is kneeling before me. He is still panting, but now he sounds merely frightened.

"It hurts," he whines.

I put my arms around him, my own anger fading quickly in the face of his submission. So far, so good.

"I'm sorry, chéri. It gets easier, eventually."

"I – I never used to have a temper," he whispers.

"It's okay. A lot has changed. Give yourself time to adjust."

"J'ai besoin être seul," he mumbles, lapsing into French. _I need to be alone. _

I watch impassively as he stands and heads down into the basement away from me. This will be a long day, the first of many. Thankfully, it is late September; the nights will draw in fast from here on in.


	14. Chapter 14 Confrontation

**_14. Confrontation_**

"Oh, God, no – Jabir! What have you done?" I gasp, surveying the carnage before me. The four former occupants of the squat lie scattered. As I come through the main entryway, I have to step over a young man, his neck twisted grotesquely to the side, the spray of blood up the wall letting me know that Jabir has forgotten himself and gone for the jugular – again. In the living area, an older man lies half on, half off a filthy, stained sofa. His expression is one of frozen surprise as he stares at me unseeingly. The cracked leather glistens slickly, blackly, with his shed blood. Blood is everywhere, spattered up the walls, carpets, even on the ceiling. This isn't just because Jabir has bitten the jugulars. A mess like this can only be the result of a feeding frenzy, a complete loss of control.

Crouched in the corner is Jabir, still clutching his third victim to his chest, eyeing me warily over her shoulder. From behind the breakfast bar in the squalid kitchenette, I hear a tiny, ragged intake of breath and a pounding, terrified heartbeat. It's a wonder anybody has been left alive in this. Perhaps, if I had been another minute later, they wouldn't have been.

I close my eyes for a full second, suppressing my own pang of thirst – for now.

"I told you to wait," I tell Jabir sternly, and he has the grace to look contrite, at least.

"I couldn't help myself," he whispers.

"I can see that." I scowl at the man on the couch. "We just wanted that one," I complain.

We have been spying on this place for days, convinced that this man had been a part of Antonio's ring and was still grooming teenagers for dealing. He seemed good at identifying vulnerable ones – the homeless, or just a little neglected, and he was providing them with a refuge. But he was also a drug-pusher, drawing them in with soft drugs like dope, then progressing them onto crack. Once hooked, they would do anything for their next fix, and, too stoned to refuse, they were forced out to work the streets; small-time dealers acting as a front for a large, well-organised gang. Now, he is dead, along with his latest recruits. This will take some cleaning up.

We have lived in New York almost a month now and one by one, Jabir and I are picking off the men that he could remember. It had been his idea, a way he could live with his need for human blood, if he fed from the low-lives and criminals that occupied the dirty underbelly of the city.

I had agreed readily enough, and to be fair, so far it has worked well. For a new-born of only a few months old, Jabir is showing a good level of self control. Frenzies like this one are rare, and I normally get there quickly enough to stop attacks on the scale of this one.

This situation is my fault. Usually, when we have identified our victim, I will lure them using my well-practised techniques, to a quiet spot where Jabir will be waiting. Their death at his hands is brutal but swift. This time, however, Jabir was convinced our mark would respond better to a boy as lure. I didn't ask how he knew this, I would rather not know.

But for whatever reason; nerves, too much thirst, the full moon for all I know, Jabir has not returned to me with the man, and when I come to investigate, this is what I find. It's my fault. I should not have agreed to let Jabir come here alone. Four months is too new. No vampire has that much control so soon.

There is another tiny sniff from behind the breakfast bar, and despite myself, my eyes flicker that way briefly. Jabir sees this, and his own eyes widen.

"Please don't hurt that one," he pleads. "She's young. I'm sorry about all this, but don't hurt that one."

"Jabir," I say firmly, drawing myself up tall. He drops his eyes immediately. "I need you to go home. Now. Don't worry about any of this, I'll sort it."

"But – "

"_Now._"

"I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault. I'll sort it. You go."

Jabir pushes his prey to the floor and stands shakily, his eyes downcast, carefully not meeting my gaze.

We had some fights at the start, Jabir and I. I wondered whether it was possible to inherit your creator's personality traits, his rages were so perfectly, ferociously matched to my own. A couple of times, he even managed to punch me before I could _flex _and hold him harmlessly aloft. The last big fight we had was over two months ago, just before Christmas. Flemington was buried under a thick blanket of snow, and as a result, there were few humans out and about for us to prey upon. Jabir's thirst was increasing exponentially with each passing day, and with it, his temper. I can't even remember what provoked him, but suddenly he flew at me, catching me unawares, and bit my upper arm. Our venom is incapacitating to other vampires, and I dropped to the floor instantly, shrieking in pain and fear. The effect on Jabir was immediate – all anger forgotten, he scooped me into his arms, sobbing and begging for forgiveness and promising he would never disobey me again.

And he has been true to his word since then – the level of deference he shows took the Piccolis years to gain from me. Was I unusually difficult, or is Jabir unusually compliant? I have no idea, and it's at times like this I wish it wasn't just the two of us, that I had a more experienced vampire to turn to for help and reassurance.

So despite the scale of this transgression, I know that having ordered Jabir home, he will do exactly that. When he is gone, I turn my attention to the girl in the kitchenette. I can smell the narcotics in her blood and on her breath, so I am unsurprised when I round the breakfast bar and find her gazing up at me with pupils reduced to pinpricks. Somewhere in her addled brain, instinct is telling her to flee, and her feet scrape uselessly at the tacky lino, unable to obey.

Jabir is right about her being young, she is surely no more than sixteen, but I can't afford to spare this one. She has witnessed too much and there is too much at stake here. But I don't need to be cruel, either. My gaze holds hers, mesmerising her, and I kneel in front of her, reaching out to stroke her hair. She relaxes visibly, and I draw her into a gentle embrace, allowing my sweet, intoxicating breath to wash over her face. By the time I expose her arm to feed, she is unconscious and unaware of her own demise. Her blood is delicious – the narcotics give it a bitter-sweet tang that makes my tongue numb, and I drink slowly, savouring the flavour. Apart from the slight numbness, the drugs have no effect on me. As far as I know, none of the chemicals and poisons that affect humans harm our kind. They simply add a piquancy to the flavour.

Four bodies. All drained of blood. They cannot be allowed to remain. I hunt around the tiny space for ideas, and spot a solution, of sorts, in the crate of bootleg liquor hidden in a cupboard. I open one and sniff it. It is labelled vodka, but I detect hints of other chemicals, and most worryingly, ethanol. Too much of this stuff would literally blind a human, but I am more interested in its flammable properties. I sit the bodies side by side on the sofa, a grotesque, grisly family, then douse them generously with the vodka, using up all twelve bottles. That there has been a murder will be obvious. I just need to ensure all evidence of the missing blood is obliterated. Using the older man's own matches and a twist of newspaper, I hear the satisfying _whoomph _of the conflagration as I close the door behind me.

On the way out, I smash the glass case of a fire alarm. The siren is painfully loud to my sensitive hearing, but I endure it. The other residents in this apartment block need a chance to evacuate. I don't wish there to be any further casualties tonight.

Home is my basement from before, with the addition of Jabir's camping gear. When I return, there is no light showing through the little window – Jabir is sitting in darkness, hugging his knees. I hunker down next to him and rest my head against his shoulder.

"Are you angry with me?" he whispers.

"No."

"Well, I'm angry with myself."

"I know."

"I really let myself down this time."

"Don't beat yourself up over it."

"Those were kids, my age."

"You couldn't help it. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you go. This is my error, Jabir – the blood is on my hands, not yours. And now you're hurting. I'm the one you should be angry with."

"No, Grace, I'm not a child. I'm responsible for my own actions. They're all dead now, aren't they?"

"I couldn't risk leaving her, I'm sorry. I was very gentle. She didn't suffer."

"That's more than I managed for the others. You think I'm weak, that it bothers me when I hurt them."

"Not at all." _It's what I love about you, one of the many things, _I want to say, but do not dare. Instead, I nuzzle deeper against his shoulder and we fall silent for a while.

Outside, the sky changes from black through dark blue to grey. The cold February day has dawned wet and miserable. There will be no sun to keep us hidden away today, and Jabir is more than sufficiently sated to remain in control for a few hours. Perhaps we should go for a stroll, take in the fresh air.

"How's your thirst?" I ask. He's silent for a few more seconds.

"Still there. Always there."

"But manageable?"

"What are you thinking?"

"I want to take a walk. A bit of daylight will do us both good."

"It's raining out."

"Please, Jabir."

He recognises the edge of command in my voice and stands, politely extending a hand to help me up, though I don't need it. From a corner, he picks up a large brolly, crawls out through the window and holds it wide, waiting for me to join him. The neighbouring building is having some work done, and its back wall is held up by scaffolding, so Jabir keeps his brolly folded until we have passed safely underneath and reached the street corner.

The rain pounds relentlessly on the material as we make our way along the streets. They are not deserted, despite the rain – New Yorkers are tough, and nothing stops them going about their business. But our destination, a small local park, is deserted, and that suits us just fine. I step out from under the brolly and raise my face to the sky, feeling the icy rain, but also, despite the thick cloud cover, I can feel the slight warmth of the distant sun, and it is this I have yearned for.

Jabir watches me from under the umbrella, a slight, wistful smile playing on his lips, but he makes no move to join me. Determined to jolly him out his sulk, I move towards a children's play area and sit on one of the swings. The seat is very wet, soaking through my chinos instantly, but I don't care. With a quick glance round to ensure we are completely alone, I begin to swing, higher and higher, the rusted chains squeaking in protest. At the apex of each forward swing, I lift my face heavenward, revelling in the wash of both rain and daylight. This is what I need, to be outdoors in the fresh air, not lurking in city basements. Maybe, once spring is here and the weather improves, Jabir would be amenable to using his camping gear for the purpose it was intended, and we can go live in the wilderness for a while. Of course, his newness means he will need to feed daily, and I wonder how he might react when I broach the subject of a mixed diet.

A gentle cough from Jabir brings me back to the present, and I gaze down at him as he stands a few feet away in front of the swing, apparently advancing and receding as I swing towards and away. He is impatient to go already. I sigh inwardly, and at the next forward apex, I leap high into the air and perform a quick double somersault over Jabir's head, followed by a half-twist, coming to land gracefully behind him, arms raised, one toe pointed like a gymnast.

He laughs despite himself, and I dance forward back under the brolly, taking his arm once more.

"Ugh, you're wet," he complains, but I just grin up at him. "Can we go now, Miss Piccoli?"

"If you insist, Mr Mbaye."

Two blocks away from home, Jabir sniffs the air and stiffens suddenly. A fraction later, I do the same. We have picked up a scent – vampires! There are, in fact, two distinct scents coming from across the street and leading down the sidewalk towards the alley where our basement is – the pair have come looking for us. Until now, we have all carefully avoided each other - I don't even know what they look like – so being sought out by them cannot lead to anything good. Should we go see what they want, or just run for it?

Jabir stands still, waiting for me to make the decision. I sigh. It might be better to face them. If they do mean us harm, we need to size them up and know what we're dealing with. Then we can run.

"When we approach them, do as I do," I tell Jabir. "We're on _their_ territory, there's a correct way to behave. Just follow my lead, and don't do anything rash."

They are waiting next to our basement, sheltering under the scaffolding. They see us the moment we turn into the alley and straighten up to face us. I keep my eyes deferentially on the taller one's left shoulder. His eyes are focussed on Jabir at my side, and I glance up to see that Jabir is eye-balling him, his lip curled back in the beginnings of a snarl.

"Eyes down!" I hiss, and press hard on his foot with my own until he complies. Tall vampire sneers, arms folded, head on one side, dominant and very self-assured. His mate, a small, dark-haired Latino woman, steps forward slightly, a warning to us both.

"He's just a newborn," I call out, just loud enough for them to hear.

"We need a word," she replies. I take this as our invitation to approach, and do so cautiously, my posture small and rounded, eyes not making direct contact. To my relief, Jabir's movements mirror mine.

"Hello, I'm Grace," I tell them politely. "This is my… companion, Jabir."

"Leon. Alba," the tall vampire responds brusquely, indicating himself first.

"You were alone last time you were here," Alba observes. "Newborn, you say – did you create him?"

I nod, and she looks impressed for a moment. Then her manner becomes business-like once more.

"You two have been creating a stir," she announces, and holds a rolled-up _Times_ towards me. I take it warily, and unfold it so I can see the front page. It's a headline about some recent killings. I glance up at her and shrug. New York's a dangerous place – why should these bother her?

"Read it," Leon growls, so I open the paper to the indicated page, skimming through it quickly. Jabir reads too, over my shoulder. The killings are of known or suspected traffickers and dealers, starting with one Antonio Spinelli last autumn, then escalating in frequency over the past month. According to the reporter, it is this escalation that tells the police they have a serial killer on their hands. The only thing that worries me in the story, that could provide any potential clue to our identity, is an un-confirmed witness report that one victim was seen being led away by a small black child. The police are interested to know more about this child.

I hand the paper back dismissively when I have finished.

"Some old whore thinks she saw me?" I ask, feigning disinterest. "It's hardly evidence."

"The Volturi don't deal in evidence," Leon tells me, triumph flashing in his eyes when I give a small start at the mention of the Italians. Nobody wants to come under their scrutiny, and I have more reason than most to avoid them.

"They have people to watch the press," Alba continues. "They see stories like this as a potential indicator of vampire indiscretion. They come here to investigate, and find an Immortal Child creating Newborns… well, we don't want that kind of trouble. We've worked hard to build our lives here."

I make myself a tiny bit taller, careful not to seem too arrogant, but I need to brazen my way out of this one.

"You think one like me would not already have come under their scrutiny?" I demand, quietly. "They sent scouts after me a century ago. I'm still alive because they've seen for themselves I'm no Immortal Child."

"Maybe so, maybe not," Leon replies. "But we still don't need the trouble. It's time you two moved on."

Well, that's not so bad. I thought we were going to have a fight, or they were already bringing the Volturi here. Instead, they want a quiet life, and they believe our absence, with the resulting cessation of the suspicious killings, will give them that. I'm also painfully aware that the paper they passed me is a day out date. They haven't guessed at our antics of the previous night, yet.

"Maybe you're right," I agree. Jabir gasps beside me but I ignore him. "We don't have much, we'll leave at nightfall."

"We'd like you to leave now," Alba counters, coldly.

Jabir steps forward to say something, but my expression stops him.

"In," I tell him, indicating our basement window. We have to pass between the two other vampires to get there, and they part to let us through. Jabir scowls up at Leon as he passes, but Leon responds only by raising an eyebrow at me. _You better hope you can keep that one under control,_ his expression seems to be saying.

"We're really going to just go?" Jabir hisses as he throws his things into his rucksack. Mine is already packed – I have always kept it packed at all times, always ready to leave at a moment's notice. Jabir has never understood this, thinks I'm simply overcautious to the point of neurosis. I take our bed rolls and attach them to the straps underneath my bag in an attempt to hurry things along.

"They aren't giving us much choice."

"We just let them run us out of town?"

"It's not that simple."

"It _is _that simple, Grace. It's a question of whether you're going to allow yourself to get bullied."

I shoulder my pack and scowl at Jabir.

"Is that what you think? That I don't have the bottle to take on the big boys?"

"You're little. It's understandable. But you have _me_ now."

"No, Jabir. We're not going to discuss this here. Please just trust my judgement. There's more to this than you understand. _Territory_ for a start."

"So they say, _this town ain't big enough for the two of us_, and we quietly walk away?"

"This time, yes."

Jabir has finished securing his ties, but he puts his rucksack on the floor and folds his arms.

"I don't like it," he says, and there's a hard set to his jaw I haven't seen for a while.

"I'm not asking you to like it. I'm telling you the way it's got to be."

"No."

"I'm going now. The safest place for you is right behind me," I respond coldly, and I move back toward the basement window. Why must he do this now? Was I really worried that he was too compliant, only to have him defy me now when our lives are in the balance? Of course, he doesn't understand the threat the Volturi poses to us, to me in particular, and I can't explain it with the others listening to our conversation outside. I just need him to stick with me until we're safely away.

I sneak a peek over my shoulder as I haul myself through the window, and give a small sigh of relief as he lifts his rucksack at last.

My relief is short lived. As soon as Jabir joins me on the pavement, he turns to snarl at Leon.

"We're not going," he growls, defiantly, and lunges at the tall vampire. Faster and more experienced, Leon is an easy match for Jabir's strength and quickly has the boy overpowered and in an arm lock. Alba has taken advantage of my momentary distraction, and I am quickly within her grasp, too. She has me by the neck, with just enough pressure to let me know she means business.

Jabir roars angrily at my plight, but Leon just laughs and adjusts his hold. This is what the tall vampire wanted all along, an excuse to get into a fight with us. I am so angry with Jabir for being so easily provoked, for playing into the others' hands like this. He is watching me expectantly, probably waiting for me to use my talent to throw our assailants off, as I have done with him so many times before, but it's not that simple. If the Volturi are coming, I can't afford to expose myself in this way. I struggle in Alba's grip, but she's so strong. And Leon responds by wrenching Jabir's arm, so that he lets out an involuntary cry. I can't bear to see Jabir in pain like that, to allow anything to happen to him.

Angry, frustrated, terrified, I begin to cry; huge, dry, wracking sobs. It's a performance fit to put the proverbial crocodile to shame.

"Don't hurt the boy," I wail. "I'm so sorry, he didn't mean it, he just wanted to protect me! I'm the one who caused all this, I'm the one you want. Please, just let him go!"

Jabir stares, aghast. Alba's grip loosens infinitesimally, and Leon looks away in disgust. I glare at Jabir then close one eye briefly, in the tiniest of winks. At the same time, I pull back my lips and snap my teeth at him.

Then I twist in Alba's grasp and sink my teeth into her arm. Half a beat later, Jabir does the same to Leon. Both vampires holler in shock and rage as Jabir and I break free and run for our lives along the path under the scaffolding. But the other vampires aren't weak like me, and ignoring the pain from the bites, they give pursuit almost immediately.

For a moment, everything seems to happen in slow motion. With a flash of inspiration, I kick out one of the supports, then with a _flex_, I rip the scaffolding away from the wall. Jabir follows suit by kicking another support, and with a groaning of metal and cracking of masonry, the whole structure starts to give way. Then, with a burst of speed, Jabir grabs my hand, overtakes and pulls me clear, as the whole back wall of the building crashes down, trapping the others temporarily.

We are engulfed in a thick, choking dust cloud, but we use that to our advantage, hiding us from humans and vampires alike as we cross the alley entrance and scale the wall of the opposite building, up onto the roof tops.

Once clear of the alley, we run along the gables, leaping from building to building, scaling higher and higher, trusting to the damp gloom and our own speed to make us almost invisible. Jabir is in his element, laughing and whooping as he leads the way, making ever more daring leaps, while I follow grimly in his wake.

He finally comes to a halt on the flat roof of a twelve storey office block, and turns to face me. The elation dies on his lips as, without breaking stride, I plough into him and punch him as hard as I can. He is catapulted with a clang against the side of the huge air-con unit, and before he can react, I fall upon him, raining blow after blow down upon him. Instead of retaliating, he brings his hands up over his head and curls up foetus-like in an attempt to absorb the blows.

This submission, now, too little, too late, serves only to stoke my fury. I realise I am screaming incoherently at him like some deranged harpy, but I just can't help myself.

"Why. Can't. You Do. As you're told?" I rant between blows. "You. Nearly destroyed. Everything. Everything – d'you understand? Just what part. Of. Follow me. Didn't you get, for Christ's sake?"

By now, Jabir is whimpering in pain and fear, but still he refuses to defend himself against me. My invective degenerates into curses and insults, my blows losing their intensity until at last I am spent, and I find myself instead with my arms around him, face buried in his hair. He remains in his foetal crouch, his own head pushed into my chest. We remain like this for what feels like hours, poised on some sort of emotional precipice, teetering on the point of no return.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles eventually, and I choke out a half laugh, half sob.

"I thought you were going to get yourself destroyed," I breathe.

Very cautiously, Jabir unfurls so that our faces become level. I can see wariness and hurt in his eyes, and self loathing washes over me. I can't bear the fact that I am the cause of his pain.

"Why didn't you just do your thing, make them stop?"

"I couldn't let them see that. If the Volturi are coming. They mustn't see what I can do."

"You're afraid of these Volturi?"

"They use people like me. The Piccolis knew – they were part of the Volturi court for centuries, they saw how it was. If they saw a talent they could use, they would destroy whole covens just to take possession of that one vampire. They would use you to get to me."

"I would die first."

"Then I would have nothing." I sigh, bleakly.

Jabir's expression softens, and he places his wrists on my shoulders resting his forehead against mine.

"We'll go far from here," he promises me. "I won't argue, or cause a fuss, or accuse you of cowardice. We'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

"To keep us both safe."

We are silent for a few moments longer.

"Of course, you could just kick them to death," he tells me. I frown, confused. "Oh come on," he grins. "Kung Fu Grace? Bringing down a whole building with one well-placed kick?"

"Silly boy," I murmur, kissing his forehead to take the sting out of my words. "I used my talent to do that! There was no way I would fail to protect you – I just had to be a little bit clever about it."

Smiling at his gasp of surprise, I shift so that I can draw him into a proper hug.

"I'm sorry about before," I whisper in his ear. "There's no excuse for a temper like mine."

"But I forgive you anyway," he whispers back. "And you need to be more open with me. Then we might be able to keep each other safe."

I lean back a little so I can see his face.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" I demand, quietly. Jabir regards me for a moment, then drops his gaze.

"I couldn't bear to hurt you," he replies eventually. "I remember how I felt, after I bit you. I don't ever want to feel like that again."

"I think I feel that way now."

Jabir pulls me back so that I am in his arms this time.

"Please don't," he murmurs, but I wriggle free of his grasp. He _has _to listen to me, has to understand.

"I'm serious, Jabir. If I ever lose it like that again, I don't want you to let me hurt you. You have to stop me. I – I think I need stopping, sometimes."

"Ok."

"I mean it."

"Fine. I will defend myself. But I _won't_ hurt you. You can't ask that of me."

His face is earnest, and he looks so young suddenly. I reach up to stroke his cheek, and he closes his eyes, exhaling heavily. Pulling his head back down so it is resting on my shoulder, I kiss his ear gently.

"I already ask too much of you," I reply. Jabir shakes his head against my neck, but doesn't argue.

After an age, Jabir stands, and offers me his hand as is his habit.

"Where to, boss?" he asks, grinning, seeking to lighten the mood. This is the Jabir I love, cheerful, resilient. I try to push down the bleak, nagging internal voice telling me that I don't deserve him.

"Well," I reply, hoisting my backpack into a more comfortable position. "Seeing as we're kitted out like a pair of regular, all-American Boy Scouts, what say you to a bit of wilderness hiking?"


	15. Chapter 15 Wilderness

**_15. Wilderness_**

"It's no good, I can't."

Grunting with obvious relief, the boar disappears quickly into the undergrowth. From the branches of a nearby tree erupts a raven, clearly disturbed by the racket. Then all is quiet once more, apart from the breeze gently caressing the leaves and the grasses and the ever-present birdsong.

I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to hold in my frustration. I am intolerably thirsty, and it took all my resolve to send that beast in Jabir's direction, rather than simply taking it for myself. And now, neither of us has it. We're going to have to settle for deer at this rate.

"Jabir, we've been through this. Out here, human blood is less available. Animal blood sustains us between feeds. It's how I've always lived, and it's served me well."

Jabir shakes his head.

"But that was swine, Grace, I couldn't do it."

I frown for a second, then I realise – as a Muslim, pork had been off Jabir's menu.

"Ok, I get it, I'm sorry," I tell him, softening. "Instead there's bear, cougar, wolf, deer…"

"Predators? _Dog_?" He sounds horrified, and I have to fight back my irritation once more. Just deer, then. That simply doesn't do it for me, never has done.

"Jabir, you have to appreciate that Islam is maybe a little… incompatible with what we are now. You've taken human blood – if Allah is going to sit in judgement of you, any other animal will pale into insignificance, don't you think?"

Jabir doesn't answer.

"And you already told me you couldn't keep to a Halal diet, anyway. Please don't be squeamish. Just embrace what we are now."

"You said we'd find elk by the stream."

"Yes." And cougar further into the trees. I would kill for some lion, literally. "Those are acceptable to you, are they?"

"Cloven-hoofed ruminants. Absolutely."

I don't know what he means by that comment, but I'm too thirsty to argue. We move silently through the forest towards the sound of running water. I hear the quiet snorts and grunts of the creatures before I smell them. Jabir's nose begins to wrinkle in disgust, but he quickly pulls his face straight again. He thinks I haven't noticed.

"Don't think about it. Just give yourself over to instinct," I tell him, stretching up on tip-toes so I can murmur into his ear, undetected by the elks' keen hearing. Obediently, he closes his eyes and inhales more deeply. Then he drops into a hunting crouch and stalks forward. No timid females for Jabir – he makes a bee-line for a large, mature bull. The beast stands no chance – Jabir leaps from much further back than I would have been able to, arms wide ready to clasp himself to his prey. I have only a moment to admire the taught muscles across his shoulders before the sound of the impact and the bull's alarmed bark scatters the rest of the herd.

The first animal to pass near me is only a medium sized cow, but I am too thirsty to care – I leap as Jabir did, maybe not as gracefully, and clamp myself onto the beast's flank. She manages to travel several more paces before my small hands can gain access to her windpipe and bring her down. We roll together through the grass then come to rest between two immature pines. Once I have her thoroughly subdued, I find a pulse-point in her flank and feed.

Returning to the stream, I laugh at the state of Jabir. Blood is running down his chin and his vest is soaked with it. He grins sheepishly when he sees me – he knows what I'm going to say next.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" My expression belies my attempt at scolding.

"I know, I know – not the jugular! I just… I smell the blood pulsing there, and I can't help myself." He pulls the vest off, uses it to wipe his chin, then kneels to the stream to wash it.

"You missed a bit." I squat beside him, take the vest, and use it like a flannel to clean him up, rubbing it over his chin, down his throat and across his smooth, ebony pectorals. I can feel his eyes boring into me as I work, but I don't look up. Not for the first time, I find myself imagining what it might be like, to curl myself into that chest, nuzzling into his neck, to feel his arms around me. But I am the creator, the mentor, the carer – the nearest thing to a parent he will have as a vampire.

"General rule of thumb," I inform him, to break myself away from these thoughts, "the bigger the beast, the bigger the heart. There was no way you were going to control the flow from that big boy!"

I rinse his vest once more, wring it out and pass it back to him. His fingers brush the back of my hand as he takes it, sending a little illicit frisson down my arm.

Standing, Jabir slings the vest over one shoulder like a jacket then extends his other hand to pull me up.

"That was fun," he says slowly. "But you're right, it's not very satisfying. I suppose we could try other animals, too."

As the weeks progress, we leave the Appalachians and travel northwards, around the Great Lakes and into Canada. The days get ever longer, partly because of the advancing summer, partly because of our progress north. In the back of my mind is the idea that we might make it into the Arctic Circle in time to witness the midnight sun – that magical day in June when the sun sinks to the horizon, touches the sea, then continues its journey upwards for the new day. Of course, there is an issue with having vampires in twenty four hour sunlight, but I'm confident we'll find a spot remote enough.

"Will it be cold?" Jabir wants to know when I put my suggestion to him.

"Not this time of year. In the seventies, I guess. Vampires don't feel the cold, Jabir."

"Well, I'm African. I feel the cold. Where we lived in Canada was nowhere near the Arctic Circle, but I suffered!"

"Wear a sweater, then."

Jabir smiles. "What'll we feed on?"

"Not much. I went up there once before, food of all kinds gets a bit scarce. Caribou, definitely. Musk ox if we're far enough north. It'll be a flying visit; up there, see the midnight sun, back south again."

"Okay. So where would we go, exactly?"

I think about this for a moment. I'd like to go all the way to the north coast, but it's tundra, very little cover – hard to move inconspicuously. I remember, though, there was a big lake just about far enough north, fairly sparsely populated. I think it's quite well forested, too.

"We'll just go as far as Great Bear Lake," I tell him. "The northern shores are in the circle, and we'll definitely find caribou. And the odd hiker."

I love hikers. Humans have this belief that they are the most dangerous thing on the planet – therefore, remove themselves from other humans, and they are safe. And mostly they are, unless they annoy a bear. Or fall down a ravine. Or encounter a nomad like me. I wonder how many reported bear attacks and falling accidents are actually the work of vampires.

Jabir shakes his head and grins at the mention of hikers. He knows how I feel about them.

"Great Bear Lake it is, then. I don't suppose it'll live up to its name with the wildlife?"

Jabir has a map of US and Canada and a compass in the kit he bought before I changed him. He is dismayed to discover we are still well over a thousand miles away, and the map is disturbingly short on details too – roads and towns rapidly become very infrequent the further north of Winnipeg we travel.

Neither of us has ever used a compass before, but somehow, we work out the exact bearing, and some landmarks to help us.

"You do realise," Jabir tells me, frowning at the map, "If we're out by half a degree, we could miss the lake by miles, and not find it?"

I shrug. As far as I'm concerned, as long as we're within the Arctic Circle on time, we'll see what I wanted to see. I wish I could show Jabir the pictures in the e-reader, the multiple exposure that shows exactly how the sun appears to skirt the horizon and never dip beneath, but it has long since stopped working, along with my mp3 player. Either the batteries, or the solar-powered charger, or all, have perished through time and extensive use. They are still in my rucksack though, treasured alongside the soap, the photo and the handkerchief.

I shoulder my pack and set off, in a loosely north-westerly direction. Jabir follows, and we move silently through the trees, just out of sight of the highway between Lake Winnipeg and Lake Manitoba. We are not travelling exactly straight, but once we reach the northern tip of Lake Manitoba, we'll be able to take a new bearing. By aiming for each new landmark along the way and taking a fresh bearing for each next one, we think we'll have the best chance of finding our destination.

Rain sheets relentlessly from the iron grey sky. Jabir and I sit in the shade of the tree-line, huddled together under a groundsheet. In front of us, the waters of the lake lap the shore, the surface dancing under the fierce downpour. The opposite shore is obscured, even from our keen eyes, by the low cloud. In places, ice still clings, despite the late month.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, for possibly the hundredth time. Jabir says nothing. He has given up trying to jolly me out of my current mood. We have been here three days now, and the solstice is tomorrow. If the weather doesn't lift, the midnight sun will not happen for us this time.

Jabir shakes himself out of a reverie and stands, holding his hand out to me.

"Let's go hunt."

"Caribou. Yum."

"You know, in Europe, caribou are called reindeer. They are said to pull Santa Claus's sled at Christmas."

"Yes, I heard that. Christmas was a bit different in my day."

Jabir shrugs. "As a Muslim, we wouldn't observe Christmas anyway. But in foster care, my families celebrated. I was given gifts, and expected to attend Midnight Mass sometimes."

"The Master had his favourites. They got gifts. Work slackened slightly."

"And that's all?"

"On our plantation, yes. Every master was different, some more generous than others. Some slaves were given passes to visit relatives on different plantations. It was a good time to attempt escape."

"Did you attempt escape?"

"Never. We were warned of the coyotes that would eat small children who strayed from the safety of the plantation. I was too afraid of coyotes to run. Then when Nate came, I would not have left unless he took me."

"Well, I escaped."

"Yes, you did. And the coyotes got you."

We both ponder this for a moment.

"Thank you again," Jabir says eventually, "for rescuing me from the coyotes."

I look up at him, his hand still outstretched waiting for me to join him. His gaze is steady, sincere.

"I'm glad I found you," I tell him, accepting his hand.

"Me, too." Jabir pulls me to my feet.

"You mean that? No regrets?"

He kisses me on the forehead, sending that familiar frisson through me again. "None."

"Let's go hunt."

We have not moved far along the coast when we pick up a trail to make both our eyes light up; grizzly! We don't need to hide here, the weather is keeping the humans well away. We have only found one settlement of any consequence, right down on the south-west corner, and as it's population is too small to feed from discretely, we gave it a wide a berth, keeping to the eastern coast as we made our way to the north shores.

The trees here can barely be called that – they are sparse and stunted and quickly give way to tundra, but we are camouflaged in our hiking gear. As there is no real darkness at the moment, we move freely day and night.

The bear is standing in a tiny inlet, waiting patiently for trout. Jabir smiles down at me.

"Share?" he mouths, and I nod. We are very practised now at stalking prey together – without further ado, Jabir drops into a hunting crouch and moves further up the inlet, careful to remain upwind of the grizzly, who so far, is unaware of our presence. When the inlet is narrow enough, he bounds smartly across then begins to work his way back down the other side. The plan is to outflank the beast, then trap him between us.

Jabir is no longer properly upwind though, and the bear stiffens suddenly, swinging his head in the other vampire's direction, sniffing the air, perhaps trying to assess the threat. Before the bear can decide how to react, I spring silently forward, closing the two hundred yard gap in little more than a second. As my feet splash into the water, the bear tries to bolt to the opposite bank – straight into Jabir's arms.

The beast roars in anger and pain as Jabir sinks his teeth into its left arm, and again as I leap onto its back and sink mine into the right shoulder.

I love sharing a feed with Jabir; it's like a competition. As I draw on the blood, I can feel the pull of the other vampire feeding, and that just increases my own frenzy as I work harder to drink more. It's a tug-of-war, the circulatory system the rope, our thirst providing the muscle.

When at last the beast is drained, Jabir and I collapse against its flanks together, breathless from the excitement. Presently, I feel Jabir's hand close gently over mine, and I roll on my side, bringing my head to rest against his shoulder.

The next day is as wet as the day before, and the day after. We hunt twice more, finding caribou both times, but the chances of seeing the midnight sun as the solstice fades behind us become slimmer and I quickly sink back into gloom.

"We could go further north," Jabir suggests. "I've been thinking – the polar day must last longer the nearer the pole you get. On the North Pole, it must be exactly six months of each."

"No," I sigh. "I'm sorry, Jabir. I just want to go back south now."

"Okay."

"Just like that?"

"I just want to make you happy, Grace. You seem so under the weather lately, and I don't think it's just because we didn't get to see the sun. What are you looking for, really?"

I draw my knees up closer and rest my chin on them. We are back in our usual vantage point on the shore-line, sheltering under the groundsheet. The wind is steadily increasing, and now we have fresh-water sea-spray soaking us as well as the rain.

"I don't know," I admit, quietly.

"You were happier in the mountains. Show me some more mountains."

"Jasper, then."

"Hmm?"

"The Jasper National Park. Wolverine Mountain. It's beautiful there – forests, ice-caps, waterfalls, hikers…"

"Okay, okay," Jabir laughs. "Are they far?"

"No. A few hundred miles south of here, in Canada still."

Jabir fishes his map out, and, holding it carefully under the groundsheet so it doesn't get wet, we quickly agree that picking up the Mackenzie River then the Liard and following them southwards would be our most reliable way of finding the Northern Rockies range and then below them, Jasper.

Now that we have a destination once more, my mood lifts slightly. As we get further from the Arctic Circle, we rapidly find the nights lengthening. We have set a brisk pace, intending to cover a hundred miles a day, so that we would be approaching Jasper in little over a week. Each hundred miles brings a significant lengthening of the dark hours for the first three days, then it becomes more subtle.

A lot of the time, Jabir and I jog along in companionable silence, hunting whenever the opportunity presents itself. When we find the Northern Rockies, we follow the foothills down along the eastern edge. Although there is only one road marked on our map for the area, the Route 97, we find small lanes, often unpaved, leading to small settlements or individual lodges. Despite this, we haven't encountered any human traffic since the loggers on the big rivers. We're reasonably well sated, having found an abundance of cougar and bear, but I worry about Jabir's control, when at last we encounter humans again. This might be a dangerous test for him. To give him his due, he never complains about his thirst.

When we reach the tip of the mountain range that contains Wolverine Mountain and Jasper National Park, I quickly realise we are not alone. I choose not to say anything to Jabir straight away, but I know the pattern – the other vampires – for there are two - want to approach and are awaiting our invitation to do so.

Jabir becomes gradually edgier, constantly looking behind him, until I can pretend no longer. I drag him towards a small creek where we shelter under the steep embankment and have the running water mask our voices slightly.

"We're being followed," he hisses.

"I know."

"Why don't they just come up to us and speak?"

"It doesn't work like that. If we stop and wait, then they'll come."

"So why don't we?"

"I'm not sure I want to speak to them."

"Why ever not?"

"They're a coven I used to travel with. We didn't part best of friends."

"Will they attack us?"

"I don't think so…"

"Then please let me meet them. Apart from you, I've never met a vampire that hasn't tried to kill me."

I smile at him. He's right, of course, although I can't help feeling a small pang at the idea that he might be lonely. With a slight sense of foreboding, I lead him up the bank to a small clearing, where two familiar vampires stand, their body language carefully neutral.

"Hello, Evie – Saskia," I murmur.


	16. Chapter 16 Evie and Saskia

**_16. Evie and Saskia_**

They look exactly as I remember them, middle-aged yet still flawless. Saskia is tall and well-built with shoulder-length sandy hair and a slightly masculine jaw-line. Evie is thinner, delicate and bird-like; not much taller than me. Saskia scowls at me slightly, although she regards Jabir with interest. Evie looks pleased to see me, and steps forward to clasp my hands in hers.

"Grace! It's been so long! Who's your friend?"

"This is Jabir. Jabir, meet Saskia and Evie."

"Salaam Alaikum," _Peace be upon you,_ he responds, seriously. The other vampires smile politely, non-plussed.

"Where did you meet?" Saskia asks after a beat.

"New York," I tell her.

"Wow, you do get around."

Evie has been eyeing Jabir and me shrewdly.

"Grace, you've been holding out on us," she announces. "You didn't just meet Jabir, you _created _him, you dark horse!"

I shrug, unsure how to respond. Saskia looks impressed.

"So, um, what brings you two here?" I ask, keen to lead the conversation away from myself.

"Oh, we've stayed around here since… you know," Evie replies. "It's so beautiful here, and we've got Calgary and Edmonton over East, and Vancouver's not too far, either. Over on the West Coast."

"That's a broad hunting range," I tell her, my turn to be impressed.

"Yes, well, we see other vampires in Vancouver occasionally, but this area's all ours."

"What about the Cullens? They still here?" I have yet to pick up any of their trails, but then, we have barely entered the area. I suspect their hunting needs are met quite close to the lodge.

"No, we haven't seen them since…" she leaves the sentence hanging again.

"Can I speak to you?" Jabir demands, looking anxious. Before I can answer, he pulls me slightly apart from the others.

"The Cullens are the ones that helped you when you were hurt, right?" he hisses when we're out of earshot.

I nod. I had a feeling he'd put two and two together.

"Then these two tried to destroy you?"

"Not exactly. The third one did most of it – Erastus. I told you why. They were as glad to be free of him as I was, in the end. I told you we weren't exactly on speaking terms."

"Do you trust them?"

I think about this for a moment.

"I trust Evie," I tell him eventually.

"Not Saskia?"

"She won't do anything against Evie's wishes. We can trust them. And they appear to have made Jasper their territory, so we have to be nice."

"And you're sure of Saskia?"

"Jabir, would you do anything against my wishes, if you could help yourself? If I say to you, I don't want them harmed, no matter what, would you obey?"

He nods. "Of course."

"If I said the opposite, that I wanted them destroyed, would you?"

Jabir looks hesitant.

"That would be wrong," he prevaricates.

"Yes, very. But would you – if I asked it of you?"

"Yes."

"That's because I am your creator. You're loyal to me. And it is why Saskia will always obey Evie, eventually."

"Oh." Jabir regards the pair with new interest. They stare back impassively. The women certainly are an unusual pairing. Normally, a vampire who creates his coven will remain its leader, will often be regarded as a parent by the others. In this regard, at least, the Cullens are typical. Saskia, on the other hand, became dominant over time. The timid Evie seems happy to remain in her mate's shadow, even though she is the creator. Saskia usually speaks for both, and makes the decisions for both. But occasionally, Evie does not agree, and on those rare occasions, Saskia always acquiesces. If her creator is insistent enough.

I walk back to the pair, Jabir close to my shoulder, protective.

"Please excuse us," I say, "Jabir had questions, is all."

"So do we," Saskia replies. "Why don't we take you back to our place, and we can catch up?"

Home is a small cave in a steep mountain side. A human would struggle to reach it without climbing gear. It is a perfect combination of shelter and vantage point.

"Tell us about yourself, Jabir," Saskia invites him, once we have spent the correct amount of time admiring the décor, which consists mostly of mismatched blankets, throws and cushions, and settled ourselves down.

Jabir glances at me, and I nod.

"Not much to tell," he shrugs. "I ran away from home. Found myself in New York – it's a popular destination for runaways – Grace found me. Offered me this." He waves his hand, as if to indicate the life we have now.

"Pardon me, but you don't look American," Evie interjects. She's not entirely satisfied by this potted version of his history.

"Well, I came from Africa originally."

"Senegal," I elaborate.

"And I was brought up here in French Canada."

"Aren't your parents searching for you?" Saskia wants to know. It's a fair question. Jabir looks like a minor, and in this day and age, humans don't give up so easily in their hunt for missing children.

"I don't know where they are. They stayed in Senegal. I was farmed out to relatives. They didn't take very good care of me, so I ended up in care."

Behind Jabir's back, I make a tiny throat-slitting motion, to indicate partly that Jabir's family might be dead, and partly that I'd like Saskia to end that line of questioning. Thankfully, she takes the hint.

"So you found him, liked the look of him, thought he'd make a good companion?" Evie asks me. I nod. "How many times did you have to try?"

"Just once. Just Jabir. Why?"

"It took me several goes; I killed countless humans before I succeeded with Saskia. And I didn't always ask their permission first, either. You were very good, to manage it first try."

"Or very lucky," Saskia interjects.

"Luck," I agree with her, "but also determination. I didn't want to let him down." I glance at Jabir and he rewards me with a smile.

"Well, I'm glad it worked," he tells me, proudly.

"So, what brings you here?" Evie asks us.

"We were drifting. Thought we might bump into the Cullens. Found you instead."

Evie nods. Drifting is normal for nomadic vampires – we have a habit of losing sense of purpose. Then she looks at Saskia, and something passes between them.

"Would you like to run with us for a while?" Saskia asks, but she doesn't look like she would particularly want us to. Jabir looks at me, his eyes widened hopefully. Having just admitted that we have nothing better to do, I haven't exactly got a reason to refuse, so reluctantly, I agree.

"Excellent, that's settled then!" Evie is as thrilled as Jabir. I lock eyes with Saskia a moment – her expression is sour. I'm going to have to be very careful around her. I imagine she still thinks I would take Evie from her given half a chance. There's nothing I can do about that. Perhaps over time, trust can be rebuilt. I hope so.

Once Saskia is over her initial reservation, she turns out to be quite good company. The agreed stay of a few days becomes weeks. Saskia takes Jabir under her wing, patiently teaching him the art of hunting. Of course, he can already hunt perfectly well for himself, but he is far too good natured to refuse her lessons.

We gradually fall into a pattern of hunting in pairs, varying them so that sometimes I hunt with Evie while Jabir goes with Saskia, or I might hunt with Jabir or, more rarely, with Saskia. Human prey is normally easy enough to find in the mountains in the summer, but this year is the coldest and wettest any of us can remember for some time. People aren't risking long hikes in this weather.

We respond by taking frequent trips to the towns, travelling ever further in our desire to keep our hunting imperceptible. We even travel as far south as Seattle, separating into our pairs once we get there.

One particularly wet day, Jabir announces he isn't in the mood for trekking miles in the rain, he'd rather just stay in the cave.

"Don't be silly," Saskia scolds. "You haven't hunted for days, of course you're thirsty."

"You go," he says, firmly.

Evie stares intently at me, indicating with her eyes that I should intervene. I shrug.

"If Jabir doesn't want to hunt, he doesn't want to hunt," I respond. "You two go, I'll stay with him."

"Well, if you're sure…" Evie isn't convinced, but Saskia doesn't want to waste time arguing.

"Leave them. We'll just have some _us_ time," she tells Evie, her eyes glinting at me as if to remind me that Evie is hers.

When they are gone, I hunker down next to Jabir, and he lays his head on my shoulder.

"What is it, Jabir?"

"Do they only consume human blood?"

"Yes. Most vampires do. We're fairly unusual, I think."

"But there are others? You mentioned the Cullens feed on animals once."

"The Cullens are unique. They won't feed on humans at all. They think it's murder."

Jabir is silent for a while, thoughtful.

"Have you ever suggested a mixed diet to Saskia and Evie?"

"No." Absently, I pick at a loose thread in the rug we're sitting upon.

"Don't you think we should?"

"No."

Jabir raises his head so he can look at me directly.

"Really? Grace, the four of us here, with such a sparse population – it's hardly sustainable, is it? Do you not think we need to be hunting more animal, less human right now?"

"Is that was this is about? Do you want to hunt animals now?"

Jabir doesn't answer, just sighs with frustration.

"Not everybody understands our attitude to our diet, Jabir," I try to explain. "Among our kind, feeding on animal blood is not just unusual, it's abnormal."

"I didn't think it was abnormal, when you suggested it," Jabir counters. "I wasn't keen, instinct told me I'd like human blood better, and I do, but still…"

"You were a newborn. If I told you we only hunt on the full moon, or we could only consume virgins in their twenty-first year, or whatever, you'd have believed me."

Jabir snorts.

"You'd be hard pressed to find virgins that old these days," he scoffs.

"Jabir!" I'm shocked by his coarseness; he is usually so well mannered around me. I suspect it's Saskia's influence – she used to enjoy shocking me with crude comments.

"Seriously," I carry on. "When Erastus attacked me – I was feeding on a wildcat, didn't hear them approach. Jabir, it was their revulsion at catching me consuming animal blood that made them _let_ him attack me."

"I didn't realise." Jabir looks upset. He takes my left hand, where some of the scarring on my wrist is still faintly visible. "I knew they did this to you, but I didn't really think about what that meant. You were nearly destroyed, weren't you? How can you stand to be with them now? Why did you let me talk you into it?"

"Jabir, don't. It's fine. I learnt something from the whole business – we immortals live an awfully long time. Erastus held that hatred for me for two whole centuries, he just couldn't let go of it, and he wouldn't have stopped until he'd had his revenge and I was dead. So the Cullens felt they had no choice but to destroy him, instead. I don't want to be poisoned the way he was. Evie and Saskia were sorry for their part in the attack, so I've chosen to let it go."

I stand, offering my hand to Jabir, for once.

"Let's go hunt. We've ignored that grizzly's trail quite long enough!"

The grizzly in question is a large, bad-tempered male. From his trails we know he's approached the cave a couple of times while we were out. We're in his territory, and he can tell from our scent, I'm sure, that we're also predators and potential rivals, but he doesn't know what to make of us, doesn't quite dare to challenge us. I imagine the cave was his at some point, but Saskia and Evie have been here a while, and it only smells of vampire now. It hardly matters – this poor fellow won't be needing to hibernate this year.

We find fresh spoors just half a mile away, and both automatically drop into a hunting crouch as we pick up the trail. As usual with prey this size, we intend to share, and move out to flank the beast, staying upwind for as long as possible.

This time, the bear spots me while I am still over a hundred yards away, but he knows my scent, and rears up in warning. I hold my ground and growl quietly back. This is too much for our cantankerous friend, and he charges me, his enraged bellow echoing around the hillside. I let him career into me and pin me to the ground, his huge paws barely able to hold my narrow shoulders, his breath almost making me gag as he attempts to bite my head. I push up against his lower jaw and turn my head to the side, just in time for a huge glob of drool to miss my face and dribble into my ear instead.

Abruptly, his weight leaves me as he is hurled to the side by Jabir's unseen charge. My boy is well trained and quick – he chokes off the poor beast's windpipe, and we both fall upon him to feed. He's unconscious within seconds. Apart from the initial surprise of being hit by a solid wall of vampire, the grizzly would not have suffered.

Afterwards, we sit side by side for a while against the grizzly's flank, enjoying the warmth from his fur.

"I wish you wouldn't let those things pin you like that," Jabir grumbles. "I thought that one was going to have your head clean off!"

"Oh, he barely tickled me," I respond smugly. I try to wipe the drool from the side of my head, but it's very viscous and has matted in my hair.

"You stink," Jabir observes, watching me.

"Let's see what we can find for dessert, then we can find a stream and wash," I suggest.

We locate a small herd of white-tailed deer easily enough. After the grizzly, one each of those is plenty. Then we go in search of somewhere to clean ourselves up. Jabir looks okay apart from being soaked through by the incessant rain, but my hair is still full of bear-drool and I can smell it on me. Not wishing to explain my state to Saskia and Evie, I need to wash.

Ahead of us we can hear rushing water, the stream no doubt swollen by run-off from the nearby mountain. We move toward the sound, but can't see the source until it's almost too late. Emerging from the undergrowth, Jabir, who is a pace or so in front of me, almost loses his footing. With lightning reflexes, I grab his jacket and haul him back. Then we lean forward cautiously to peer into the ravine where a small waterfall crashes into the stream some thirty feet beneath us.

Jabir and I regard each other with huge grins, then, hand in hand; we plunge over the waterfall into the icy pool below. It isn't very deep and we quickly find the bottom and push ourselves upwards once more.

I break the surface an instant before Jabir, and I'm ready for him – while he splutters out a lungful of water, I splash him as hard as I can, sending a huge deluge over him. He retaliates by grabbing my head and forcing me under water. I respond by letting all the air bubble out of my lungs, then I go completely limp. He releases me, and my relaxed body rises so I am floating face-down, held just under the surface by the weight of my clothes.

"Ha-ha Grace," he sneers, his voice echo-ey and distant through the water. But I am motionless – could stay like this for hours if I want to. I allow the current to begin to carry me away.

"Grace? Grace!" Jabir is at my side in an instant, pulling my face clear of the surface, worry and fear evident in his voice and shaking hands. At which point, I open my eyes and squirt the mouthful of water I had ready into his face.

"Oh, you're good," he grins.

Now he has me in his arms, my hands resting on his shoulders, our noses just an inch or two apart, and our laughter subsides as we both become aware of our proximity. His suddenly intense gaze holds mine for a long moment, then I duck my head just in time for his kiss to land on my forehead.

"No, Jabir," I mumble into his chest. He pulls me into a tight hug, which I return, and we remain like this for several seconds, gently treading water.

"I'm sorry," he whispers as he releases me. I give him a quick peck on the cheek, then strike out to the side to find a way out of the ravine and return to the cave.

We are back before the others, so we change quickly into dry clothes from our rucksacks and towel our hair. It is still raining heavily outside, so finding somewhere to dry the other clothes is difficult. We spread them out the best we can up the sloping side of the cave, careful to move the cushions and throws so they aren't dripped upon.

Then we sit side by side, a little awkwardly. We have no idea how long the others intend to hunt for, they could be hours yet. I'm brooding quietly. I'm not sure how I feel about Jabir's attempt to kiss me. Physically, we have been close from the start – we hug, we hold hands, and we do kiss – the chaste kisses that pass between friends and family. But the way he was looking at me then; that kiss would have been so much _more_. And a tiny part of me wants to explore that possibility, but it just doesn't seem right, somehow.

"Do you think it's possible for animals to become vampires?" Jabir asks suddenly, shaking me out of my thoughts. Jabir hates long silences – I think he's said the first thing that came into his head.

"No. Well, I don't think so."

"So, if we started to feed, and didn't finish for some reason, and the animal wasn't dead, it wouldn't become a vampire?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't. I think our venom is just poisonous to anything other than humans. If the feeding didn't kill the animal, I'm sure it would just die from the venom."

"That's good. Can you imagine the havoc a herd of white-tail vampire deer would wreak?"

I manage a smile at the image. Prey that bit back. That would certainly be a shock to some poor mountain lion.

"What about animals that are similar to humans?" Jabir presses. "You know, members of the ape family."

"We could go to Africa and bite a chimp and find out," I suggest. "At least it would be warm and dry there."

Jabir stiffens suddenly, as if perceiving some hidden danger, then relaxes. At the same time, I spot movement on the opposite ridge – Saskia and Evie are back.

"Well, don't you two look cosy?" Saskia demands, as she joins us in the cave. She eyes our wet clothes. "What did you do, go for a swim?"

"Something like that," Jabir murmurs. He catches my eye briefly and somehow I know he intends to keep quiet about the nature of our hunting trip.

"Finally, some sun," Evie sighs, stretching herself out along the tree trunk, her pale skin sparkling in the weak light. I am too distracted to answer her, basking in the warmth, our heads touching in the middle as I stretch out the opposite way along the trunk.

"Give me your hand," she commands me.

I reach my hand back for her, and she holds it up over our heads so we can both see.

"I love your skin in the sun," she murmurs. I remain silent, wary, as we both admire the crystal of her skin and the gold-dust of mine.

Above us, small, fast moving clouds scud across the sun so that one moment our skin sparkles, the next it is muted, only to sparkle again moments later. This is just another brief respite in the weather. Around us, sodden trees drip onto the muddy, saturated earth. The mountains are treacherous at the moment. The topsoil, its hold on the slopes tenuous at the best of times, is dangerously prone to slippage at the moment. We regularly encounter land-slides on our travels, and have to pick our way carefully around them.

We are alone for now. Saskia and Jabir have gone south and east for a day or two, looking to see if the foothills are safer, if we would be better off finding quarters nearer to Calgary. The two have become fast friends over the past few weeks. At first it surprised me that Saskia would leave me alone with Evie, but now I suspect that she is trying to make me jealous of her and Jabir, make me believe that she would take him from me. When they chat together, she leans in close, whispers into his ear and watches me, looking for a reaction. I wonder what Evie makes of her mate's behaviour.

"It's very trusting of Saskia, leaving you with me," I say, carefully.

"Why? Are you planning to cart me off?" Evie responds, and I can hear the smile in the words.

"You might cart me off," I suggest.

Evie sits and turns to look at me, her face upside-down over mine, the sun behind her head making her greying hair a glowing halo.

"Jabir wouldn't allow it," she assures me.

I hadn't thought he might be in any way jealous of my friendship with Evie. When he left this morning, his only concern seemed to be that I was happy with the arrangement.

"He knows he can trust me," I tell her.

"And you trust him. You're very good for each other. I don't think I've ever seen you this happy. I'm surprised the pair of you aren't mated."

It's my turn to sit up, and I frown at my friend.

"Oh, no, he's far too young for that," I tell her, firmly. "He's barely a year old."

"But in human years, he was a little older than you, I think," Evie insists.

"It's not the same. Humans now are slower coming into adulthood. This teenage period seems to slow things up. It didn't exist in my time. You were too small to work, then you weren't. At that point, you became an adult."

Evie seems to think about it for a moment.

"But humans still had to go through adolescence – it's just that these days, they make more allowance for it. And the fact is, you were frozen near the start of adolescence, but he's right near the end of his. Emotionally, he might be more developed than you, more adult in some ways, despite all your years of experience. He would be a good mate for you. To outsiders, you would appear to be childhood sweethearts."

I wince at this idea – I had a childhood sweetheart, and I destroyed him because of what I became. I shake my head, but I can't formulate a suitable argument.

"What do you think he and Saskia talk about?" she asks me. I have no idea. I have been concentrating so hard on not giving Saskia any indication of jealousy that it hasn't occurred to me to wonder what they might be whispering about. But Evie means her question rhetorically, because she carries on without waiting for an answer.

"They talk about our relationship, Grace. How I created Saskia, then let her lead. He's fascinated by the whole idea. If you haven't thought of the possibility of taking Jabir for a mate, he most definitely has."

I remember the day in the gorge, the electricity between us, his attempt to kiss me. Deep down, I know she might be right.

"It's different for you two though," I persist.

"Because we're both women? It really isn't, you know."

"He's still too young. In a few years, maybe."

"What do you think will be different then? You're vampires. Nothing's going to change. You are how you've always been, and how Jabir is now, that's how he'll remain. That's our nature."

I don't argue, but I don't agree with her. I am nothing like the terrified, angry, feral vampire that the Piccolis took in two centuries ago. They showed me the love and care I was lacking, and I responded and changed. And Erastus must have changed – from the person that Reuben fell in love with and created as a vampire, to the monster that wielded such awful power over my friends and wouldn't rest until he found the slave girl who had murdered his mate. So many vampires I have met have encountered change in their lives and adapted, for better or worse. Despite our frozen outward appearance, we are not the rigid unchanging beings that so many of our kind believe us to be.

Evie jumps lightly down from our fallen tree trunk, and points to the sky over in the west. The sun has disappeared properly now, and the peaks to our west are invisible, already obscured by the next band of rain.

"Let's go back," she murmurs, and I follow silently, lost to my own thoughts. Jabir as mate. It has a certain appeal. But not now, he's too young, whatever Evie says. Give it a decade or two. Then maybe, just maybe.


	17. Chapter 17 Suffocation

**_17. Suffocation_**

The wet weather simply will not let up. And despite Jabir's attempts at cheerfulness, the rest of us are not coping well. Evie and Saskia have always been self-sufficient as a couple. Four would be a crowd for them at the best of times, and cramped together in their little cave, we are starting to get on each other's nerves.

Saskia is particularly tetchy, and doesn't hide her resentment when she is outvoted on a move to Calgary. The town is too small, we tell her, it just won't support four vampires.

Jabir and I hunt together most of the time now. We say it is to allow the women quality time together, but of course, the real reason is to hide our diet from them.

One day, Jabir and I make a sortie south of the Wolverine Mountains, in search of the Cullens' lodge. We find it easily enough; I quickly find myself on familiar ground and lead the way there, but there is no sign of the other vampires. The place is boarded up; although faint human traces tell me the lodge has seen some use. Perhaps they pay a caretaker to visit occasionally. If so, we mustn't lead the others here. The Cullens will not be best pleased if we end up hunting the hired help. After a few deer and a mountain lion, Jabir and I decide to return.

Back at the cave, Saskia's mood has not improved. She has noticed that Jabir and I do not seem to thirst as desperately as her and Evie, and begins to suspect we have a source of human blood that we are keeping to ourselves. She begins to make snide comments, hinting at her suspicions.

"I must say, Jabir, your Grace is looking well."

"Yes, she is."

"You take good care of her."

"As you do for Evie."

"No, I don't think Evie and I fare quite so well."

"What are you saying, Saskia?" I interject. Jabir has always been so polite and warm towards her – I can't stand the tone she is taking with him now. I glance at Evie, but there's no help there – she is sitting on her usual cushion, staring despondently toward the opening. It is merely drizzling today, but the cloud cover is heavy and dusk has come early.

"I'm _saying, _Grace, that your hunting expeditions seem rather more successful than ours. I would have thought, in the interests of _friendship _and _sharing_, that you might be a little more forthcoming about how you manage it."

Jabir stretches his eyes at me, clearly alarmed at the hostility in her tone. _Tell her!_ He mouths at me, but I shake my head.

"Oh, for God's sake," Evie blurts suddenly. "Look at their _eyes _woman! Grace is hunting animals again, has been for weeks. She's got Jabir doing it too!"

I look into Jabir's eyes, and sure enough, they are not quite as red as they should be. As a young vampire, his eye colour should be much more striking than the rest of ours, but the crimson has faded to a dark orangey coral. I'm sure my eyes must be even lighter. I am reminded of the pale amber eyes of the Cullens; that must be what happens after many years of an exclusively animal diet.

"It helps," Jabir whispers. "You should try it."

"It's not natural!" Saskia spits. Jabir starts at the vehemence in her voice. I had warned him of their likely reaction to our diet, but I don't think he really expected it. He hasn't seen this side of Saskia's temperament before; she's been going out of her way to be nice to him, like a doting aunt. He looks hurt and I want to go to him, wrap my arms protectively around him, but he quickly pulls himself together and dons a business-like expression.

"I think we all need to move on from here," he announces. "This weather is too awful. We should all move south. It should be drier and warmer, if we go south."

"That's a good idea," Evie agrees quietly, turning to look at us all for the first time. "Jabir's right. We need a change of scenery."

Saskia doesn't answer straight away – she is glaring at me, nostrils flaring, inviting a fight.

"I'm perfectly happy here," I lie. "You and Saskia should go; Jabir and I will make our own way. I think we need a break from each other, don't you agree, Saskia?"

Jabir looks dismayed, and Saskia seizes her chance, a gleam of pure malice in her eye.

"I think Jabir is quite capable of making his own decisions," she replies. She turns to him, her face a polite mask now. "Jabir, you must decide for yourself; to stay here, or come south with Evie and me."

Jabir opens and shuts his mouth, stunned. His suggestion has been turned on its head; he had wanted us all to move south, as a coven, and now Saskia is telling him to choose between her and me. I can feel my temper begin to rise at the unfairness of it, and fight the urge to _flex _and throw the troublesome vampire from the cave. I have kept it in check for months now, and I just want to unleash it on somebody. I shut my eyes, panting slightly, desperate to keep myself under control. Flying into a rage now will not help matters.

"Grace, we'll all go south," Jabir's voice is small and uncertain.

"No, Jabir." I turn to Evie, pointedly ignoring Saskia. "It's been wonderful meeting up with you again," I tell her, and we embrace. I don't need to tell her that we've reached the end of the road, that this little group can't go any further for now. She knows. Natural nomads like us don't like large covens, can never cope with the company of others for more than a while. Had the weather not been so confining, we might have lasted for a couple months longer. But our coming together was only ever going to be temporary.

Jabir looks on helplessly as Saskia and Evie begin to pack their few belongings. Like us, they carry backpacks. Saskia pauses in her work to put a hand on his arm, and I swallow another wave of anger.

"Come with us. There's nothing for you here." She glances my way with a triumphant sneer. I turn so I can't see her.

"Not without Grace," Jabir tells her, his expression resolved. I should feel elated; he chose me! But my inner battle with my anger is all-consuming. I feel like my head will explode, and I'm aware that I'm physically shaking. I close my eyes and concentrate upon breathing.

Then, without another word, the women are gone and Jabir and I are alone. Outside the cave, the drizzle hardens into a downpour.

"We should follow them," Jabir announces.

"No."

"Just keep them in sight till Evie calms Saskia down. Then I'm sure we can -"

"_No_."

Jabir flops down onto one of the remaining cushions. "So we just split up, just like that?"

"I'm sorry, Jabir, really. It's what happens. Vampires are not as gregarious as humans. Big covens just don't work, generally."

"I thought we'd made some friends there. We can't simply let it end like this."

I let my breath out in a whoosh, unaware that I had been holding it until now. Forcing myself to push the anger away, I sit down carefully next to Jabir and take hold of his hand.

"The best thing for the friendship is to let them go," I tell him. "One day in future, we might bump into them again, and it might be possible to spend time with them again. I have one or two other friendships that work that way. But a permanent coven? No."

"So for now it's just the two of us."

"Yes."

"Just the way _you_ like it." Letting go of my hand, Jabir stands and moves to the opening of the cave. He crosses and uncrosses his arms, looking agitated. I eye him warily – it looks for all the world as though he is mustering the courage to say something to me. A lump rises uncomfortably in my throat. Maybe he means to go with Saskia and leave me.

"You know," he begins, "Saskia and I have talked a lot over the past few weeks. About life, and immortality and… relationships." His voice breaks slightly on the last word. "She says it's a long time to live, and not have everything, um, as it should be."

Our relationship is not as it should be? He's unhappy? I'm too stunned to speak.

"And she gave me a lot to think about," he continues. "And I have been thinking. About you, and me, and Evie and Saskia, how they are together. And it's made me think, I want – I _need_ – things here to change. Between us."

The world tilts sharply upon its axis and I am cast adrift, free-falling through space.

"You're leaving me?" I gasp, my voice barely audible over the rushing sound in my ears. I can't look at him, I can't bear to have my worst fears confirmed, that I am not enough for another being, not even one I have created. Hot rage sweeps through me in response, and I do the first thing that comes to mind; I grab my rucksack and flee.

I hear his voice call my name in alarm as I slip and slide down the treacherous slope, but I shoulder my pack resolutely and redouble my pace, barely keeping my footing in the mud and scree. Running blindly, I can only hold onto one thought – Jabir no longer needs me. He no longer wants me. Saskia has succeeded in far more than making me a little jealous – she has turned him against me, stolen him from me, taken her revenge for the time she thought I was taking Evie from her.

The rain is pounding heavier, blustery wind driving it almost horizontally into my face, so I can hardly see, barely draw breath. But nothing can slow my flight now. I gain the valley floor and veer right, following the swollen, roaring gulley upstream towards the mountain range proper. As the valley rises, the going gets more difficult, the water ever louder as the incline gives it greater velocity. I clamber past a couple of small waterfalls, then give up and begin to scale the opposite slope.

I no longer have any idea where I am, and I think if I can make it to higher ground, I can move above the storm and get my bearings. The rain comes down harder still, a deluge the like of which I have rarely seen. I feel like I am struggling through a wall of water. The ground beneath me becomes slipperier as it gets steeper, and I clutch at rocks, bushes and saplings to haul myself upwards.

I grab at one sapling as a roaring noise fills my ears over the sound of the rain, the wind and their own dull thrumming. I stare in horror as the sapling appears to slide away from me, then the ground is gone from beneath my feet. Crying out in fear, my arms pinwheel as I fight to regain my balance, but I am powerless. A wall of crushing darkness strikes me, knocking all the air from my lungs, and I roll and tumble at its mercy.

Then all is silent.

I cannot breathe. I cannot open my eyes. I cannot move.

Realisation dawns upon me – I am trapped under several tons of land-slide. My left arm is broken, I'm sure of it, but the pain of that is nothing compared to the fire in my chest – my rib-cage is crushed! The white-hot agony is familiar, I've been here before – it's my own venom trying to heal the broken bones. But to what avail? As they heal, surely they will break again under the pressure of the earth that buries me.

Vampires are not easily destroyed. We can survive any amount of injury including dismemberment as I well know, but only fire snuffs our life, gives us oblivion. How long can I remain here, interred, breaking, healing, re-breaking under the weight of the mountainside? Days? Months? Centuries? Until, weakened by thirst, I no longer heal but remain crushed and broken and maddened but somehow conscious throughout. Something about fossils I learned from the e-reader comes to mind, how the body decays, leaving its own shape in the mud that becomes rock, mineral-laden water filling the cavity until the fossil is formed. It is a process that takes millions of years. Will my body decay around me? How long will that take? At which point will I cease to be, will oblivion take me?

I can't stay like this. I must break free, or somehow hasten oblivion. Summoning all my resolve, I concentrate on pushing the earth away from me and _flex _as hard as I can. I can feel the earth move, the band of pressure loosening, then it falls again, impossibly holding me tighter than before, my chest buckling further.

Again and again I _flex. _Again and again, the earth moves slightly then settles around me once more. I feel myself weakening, feel myself wanting to drift away on the waves of pain, when something – _somebody _– grabs my ankle. I attempt one more huge _flex_ and suddenly the weight is gone and I am free!

Still blinded and deafened by the mud and the pain, I am placed on my feet and hands shake me by the shoulders. I cannot respond, I simply wretch and vomit mud wetly onto my bare feet. The hands wipe at my face, trying to clear the mud from my eyes, then I am suddenly borne aloft and tucked into somebody's chest – a man's, I realise, as my own hand strokes feebly over pectoral muscles – a vampire's – Jabir!

My ribs jar agonisingly as he runs with me, but I cannot draw breath to cry out. Then we plunge into freezing water, and I am set on my feet again, the current swirling around me. My knees buckle, but Jabir catches me with one arm, while his other hand washes the mud from my face, my ears, my eyes.

"_Breathe! _Zut alors!" Jabir snarls, and I open my eyes to find his own face close to mine, etched with fear and worry. I try to draw breath, but simply gag again, vomiting more mud. He lifts me once more, this time to place me under a torrent of water. He pulls my hair at the back of my head to force my face upwards. My mouth opens, and water pours in. I choke and struggle weakly, but Jabir holds me firm.

"Drink!"

I have no choice but to swallow as much of the water as I can. It is so icy, it stings and burns as it runs up my nose and I splutter. Then suddenly, he has me bent over double, and gives me two resounding slaps on my back. White hot pain jolts through my ribs at the impact, and I vomit again; mud mixed with water. Still I can't breathe, and he forces my face back into the torrent to drink some more. Three or four times he repeats the cycle, forcing me to drink and then vomit until the water I expel runs clear.

Finally, he allows me to fall back against him. Cradling me with one arm, he brings his mouth down over mine, and breathes sharply into me. I can feel my lungs inflate, feel them push painfully against my ribs, and my knees buckle once more as another wave of pain takes me. Jabir carries me clear of the water and sets me down on dry rock. The sound of the pouring water echoes strangely, and I open my eyes again briefly. We appear to be on some sort of shelf behind a waterfall swollen by the rains.

Jabir has his rucksack nearby, and is pulling something from it.

"We need to get you dry," he says gently, and to my horror, pulls my shirt over my head. I wrap my arms around my chest to hide my nudity and try to roll away from him, but there's nowhere to go.

"Mon dieu," he whispers, running his fingers over my back. I can only imagine how misshapen my ribcage must look. "You're hurt – I had no idea. Oh, Grace!" He takes a shuddering breath, then lifts me again, much more gently than before. He starts to pull something over my head – I can tell from the feel and the scent that it is one of his large sweaters. I wonder why he isn't fetching me some of my own clothes, then I realise – my rucksack must have been torn from me and lost in the landslide! All my things that the Cullens gave me – the little handkerchief that never really stopped smelling of Jabir's blood despite Jasper's soap – all gone!

Feeling strangely bereft, I drop my head forward onto Jabir's chest in an attempt to draw some comfort from him. He tries to take one of my arms to put through the sleeve, but I am far too mortified to expose my chest to him and simply clutch myself tighter. He gives up, and pulls the sweater down over me with my arms trapped inside. After laying me gently back down, he suddenly grabs and pulls my trousers from me before I can stop him. I draw my knees up into the sweater, unable to protest at his treatment of me as a huge shuddering spasm of pain and grief rocks me.

Jabir turns back to his bag and pulls out his only other dry item of clothing, a pair of tracksuit bottoms. He quickly shucks his own wet clothes off and pulls them on. Then he lifts me again and carries me to the back of the ledge. He sits carefully, cradling me against his bare chest. Wracked with the pain of healing bones, I can do nothing more than push my face closer against his throat, breathing as shallowly as I can so that my lungs don't catch against the sharp edges of my ribs.

As another juddering spasm grips me, I feel his nose nuzzle my hair, his lips brushing my forehead. This is all I dare hope for – that he has found me, and while I am injured, he will stay with me and keep me safe, because he is a good man, and would not leave another vampire to suffer. We remain like this for hours, with me nestled in Jabir's arms, trussed up inside the sweater, but safe for now.

White-hot pain washes over me in waves, paralysing me like before. But this is not as bad as before, I keep telling myself. I can endure this.

Gradually, over several hours, the spasms calm into tremors then subside altogether, along with the pain. But what won't go away is the hollow feeling in the centre of my chest, the hurt that has nothing to do with injury.

Jabir is leaving me. When he sees I am fully recovered, he will go, and I will be alone. But not now, please. I remain absolutely still, trying not to break the spell, trying to delay the inevitable.

Beyond the waterfall, the sky outside is lightening. The rain has finally stopped, but the fall is still heavy and fast flowing, thundering past the opening. As motionless as me until now, Jabir shifts slightly, and his hand begins to stroke my back.

"Grace?" he whispers. I do not respond, afraid to begin the conversation that must surely follow. Jabir shifts a bit more, moving so that his hands can hold each side of my head and tilt my face up towards him. My eyes remain unfocussed, staring at a point past his ear. He shakes me gently, trying to force eye-contact.

"Grace, _please_, I need to know you're alright. Tu vas bien?"

He sounds so lost. I blink, and gaze up at him.

"I lost my rucksack," I mumble, and he pulls me into a tight hug.

"Oh, mon dieu, merci à Allah," he breathes. My right arm is trapped between our bodies, but I manage to thread my left through a sleeve so that I can reach round and return the hug. After a moment Jabir releases me and slides the sleeve up to admire the arm.

"This was broken," he tells me, awed. "And now it's completely healed! Are your ribs as good?"

I push my other arm into its sleeve then nuzzle back into his chest, wrapping both my arms around him.

"Bones are easy," I nod. "Dismemberments take a bit longer."

"Grace?"

"Mmm?"

"Why did you run?"

I stiffen. The moment has come already. I thought, I _hoped,_ when he looked so pleased to see me, that he might remain a little longer. But it's not to be.

"Grace?" he presses.

"You were leaving me," I whisper tonelessly into his chest, while the hollow place inside my own chest clenches with fear.

"Tu fille sotte!" _You foolish girl, _he gasps. "How could you think this?"

His arms tighten around me until I can't breathe, until I think my ribs might crack again, but I don't care.

"Grace, I wasn't leaving you. I could never leave you. You are my life."

I sit up to stare at him, stunned. This is not what I was expecting him to say, it's the opposite of what I was expecting. My stomach gives a tiny lurch of hope.

"But you said -"

"That I wanted _change._ Not an ending!" He pushes my hair back off my face, allowing his thumb to stroke my cheek as he does. In all the upheaval of the land-slide and the waterfall, the braids have worked loose. I dread to think how my hair, unruly at the best of times, might look right now. I close my eyes and lean my face into Jabir's hand. He just wants change. Right now, I would give him anything he asks for, just to keep him.

"What kind of change?" I whisper.

At that moment, the sun rises over the opposite peak, and we are flooded with dappled, watery light as its rays penetrate the waterfall.

"Look," he breathes, "today's the autumnal equinox. Night and day are exactly equal. Tomorrow, night will be longer. We're changing from summer to winter."

I had no idea. After more than two centuries, I don't always keep the date, only a sense of passing seasons. As a nomad, it's all I need. In New York, we were surrounded by media, and I often noted the date with idle interest, but since the solstice, since meeting up with Evie and Saskia, the days have all rolled into one again.

"It's a year to the day since you took me to that building site and began my change into a vampire. I remember watching the sun set."

"It was a special day, then."

"Yes. A lot can change in a year. I'm not the little boy you rescued from those people."

"I know."

"You don't know. I was on the cusp of manhood when you found me, and the change accelerated that."

This makes sense. I noticed the change myself when he transformed, how his soft, slender frame seemed to fill out just slightly with muscles that hadn't been apparent before.

"You discussed this with Saskia?"

"She's seen it before. Other young people becoming adults overnight as a result of the change. She thinks it didn't work for you because you were _too_ young, or too under-developed, maybe."

I don't say anything. The same idea has occurred to me before. _Runt_. The word springs unbidden to my mind. Small, stunted, unable to develop fully. We fall silent briefly, watching the light dancing around us, our skin glowing faintly in response. Jabir allows his hand to move to my back, stroking like before. It's soothing.

"In the past year I feel I've grown, Grace. As a person. As a man."

I nod slowly. In my heart of hearts, I know this. As his creator, I have guided him and mentored him, and tried to be a good parent, but it has never sat well, because next to him, I appear so much younger.

Jabir shifts again, so that we are facing each other once more. This whole time, I have remained in his lap, and neither of us seems inclined to break that contact.

"And you're no child, either."

"No, I'm not." So why do I feel so small and lost?

Jabir swallows, then takes hold of my hand, stroking his thumb over my knuckles, while the hand on my back stills.

"Grace, you mean the world to me. You've brought me into this existence, you've been there for me, let me make mistakes. Rescued me when need be. But I want to change that. I want to be there for you, I want to be the centre of your world. I want to be the one who takes care of your needs."

He sees the confusion in my eyes, and brings the hand on my back up to cup my cheek.

"I want to be your mate. I love you, Grace." And before I can react, he pulls me closer, his lips brushing my forehead, my nose, my mouth. My lips part slightly in surprise, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue tentatively seeking mine. The frisson I have felt from his touches in the past is as nothing compared to the electricity running between us now. A small moan escapes me as I surrender myself to him and return the kiss.

After both an eternity and no time at all, Jabir breaks away, pressing his nose into my cheek to draw in my scent, then pulling me into an embrace against his chest.

"I love you, too," I murmur into his sternum. "I think I always have."

"There's something else," Jabir adds. "In my culture, the male takes the lead in a relationship. He is the man of the house, you understand?" I shrug slightly in reply. "So if we become – mated – then I am the man in the relationship. Can you accept that?"

And somehow, wrapped up in his arms, it makes perfect sense. I find myself nodding in agreement, and he squeezes me, kissing the top of my head.

"But how would we, you know – become mates?" I ask, suddenly coy.

"We marry," he says. "Not in a church or a mosque, because of what we are, but here on the mountainside. Just the two of us. We'll make our own vows to each other, under the sky, in sight of Allah. That's all the witness we'll need."

Suddenly, he lifts me off his lap so that I am standing in front of him, and raises himself up onto one knee. It's obvious what he's about to say, and I am thrilled and mortified in equal measure. Trembling, I allow him to take my hand as he gazes up into my eyes.

"Grace, I can't imagine life without you. I love you. Will you marry me?"

I nod mutely.

"Say it."

"Yes. I'll marry you, Jabir."

Jabir grasps my head between his hands and covers my face with kisses – my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my jaw, and finally, gently, caressingly, his mouth claims my mouth, while the waterfall thunders behind us and the sunlight plays on our skin.


	18. Chapter 18 New Beginning

**_18. New Beginning_**

"Ok, look now." Jabir takes his hands from my eyes, and I blink at the sight before me. Between two peaks, like a teeming flood frozen in its tracks, stands a glacier, gleaming pinkly in the dawn light. It creaks and cracks as though at any moment, the spell that holds the flood back will be broken and it will burst forth once more. I stand mesmerised. A long time passes before I am able to speak.

"It's beautiful," is all I manage to say.

"I want to go to the top," Jabir whispers. "I want to stand at the summit where we can touch the sky, and make our vows there."

He tugs my hand, and we make our way forward together. The mountains here are rocky and treacherous. There is little vegetation at this altitude, and as we approach the glacier I can see it is not smooth like the snow I imagined it to be, but rough and ridged and full of deep crevasses. With our immortal agility, however, we make our way over the terrain with little difficulty.

I wonder how we must appear to human eyes; a teenaged boy in a suit leading a little girl in a bright, yellow summer dress up the mountainside, impervious to either the cold or the danger. For now, however, we have the place to ourselves; although this glacier is popular with tourists, it is far too early in the day for human visitors, and the cold, wet summer has kept the numbers right down generally. It is not long before we are above the glacier, scaling a peak too steep and high for all but the most experienced mountaineers.

At last, Jabir is satisfied. We spend a few moments admiring the view. Below us runs the glacier, and lower still is the green carpet of forest in the valley floor. Opposite there are more peaks, just as barren and exposed as the one we are standing upon. Above us stretches the sky. Another cloud bank is fast approaching from the west, seemingly at our level – it will surely engulf the mountain when it arrives. From our elevation, we can see over the top of the cloud; the texture of cotton wool in the foreground, but away in the distance, a huge anvil-like plateau rises with the promise of more rain. The terrain beneath the cloud front is already in shadow.

To the east, the sun is gaining height, and this is the direction Jabir turns us to face, as though he might be about to pray. He does not kneel, however. We both remain standing, and turn towards each other slightly, holding both hands. We are the bride and groom, the sun is our priest.

Jabir is smartly dressed in a plain black suit, which he picked up in Calgary using the last of the cash we had accumulated in New York. He also bought a new rucksack and clothes to replace what I lost, and picked out the summer dress for me. He chose yellow, he told me, because it reminded him of the sun, and he loved the way it contrasted with my skin, which is sparkling gold on mahogany up here in the clear light.

I can feel his hands trembling slightly in mine – or is it my hands that are trembling? He watches the horizon for a couple of moments more and swallows visibly. Then he draws a deep breath and turns to face me, his eyes blazing.

"Grace," he says, his voice ringing out clearly. "I love you. I promise to cherish you, to be your lover, your protector, your soul-mate and your friend. Everything I am, everything I have, I lay before you. I will remain ever faithful to you and remain by your side through the good times and the bad, for as long we both shall live, _insha'Allah_."

"Jabir Mbaye," I respond, "I love you. I promise to cherish and respect you, to support you in all you do and to be your lover, protector, soul-mate and friend. Where you lead, I will follow. I will remain ever faithful to you and remain by your side through the good times and the bad, for as long we both shall live, God willing."

"Do you take me to be your husband?" Jabir asks.

"I do. Do you take me to be your wife?"

"I do."

"Then, before God, I offer you my hand in marriage and promise to uphold my vows until the end of my existence, Amen."

"Before Allah, I accept your hand in marriage and promise to uphold my vows until the end of my existence, Ameen."

For a moment, we stand in awkward silence. With no third party to declare us man and wife, neither of us is quite sure what to do next. I gaze up into Jabir's face, transfixed. This man is now my husband. I reach up to stroke his cheek and he closes his eyes as he leans into my caress. When he opens them again, his face breaks into a huge, boyish grin.

"May I kiss my bride now?"

"Yes, please."

"We need to move now, I think," Jabir announces, pulling himself out of our embrace.

"Where shall we go?" I ask him. The sun has disappeared and the cloud bank is rapidly engulfing us in a thick fog. No humans will attempt to climb this peak today – we're quite safe up here.

"I've got somewhere ready," Jabir responds.

"You have been busy," I laugh. After agreeing to marry Jabir, he had excused himself to "make preparations." Having been gone for less than twenty four hours, I'm impressed that he's been all the way to Calgary and back and scouted out this place. And now he says he's prepared something else as well? Intrigued, I follow him back down the mountainside. With near zero visibility now, we make our way slowly and carefully.

I stop and sniff the air when I pick up the scent of mountain goats.

"Thirsty?" Jabir asks.

"Maybe a little."

"Let's hunt on the way then. We'll need our energy for what I've got planned!"

We find the goats on a ledge a hundred metres or so further down; a pair of females who have gotten themselves lost and are bleating pitifully, their voices barely travelling through the dense air. They make a small but welcome meal, then Jabir is impatient for us to be on our way once more.

"Where exactly are we going?" I whisper. I'm not sure why I'm whispering, perhaps it's the eerie stillness of the fog.

"It's a surprise," Jabir is also whispering. Maybe he feels a little spooked by our surroundings, too.

At last we reach the top of the glacier and he stops, unsure for a moment which way to go. Then, with sudden resolve, he pulls me to the left and there before us is a cave entrance, actually going into the glacier.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Trust me?"

"Of course."

"Then wait here, and don't peek inside. I'll be back in a flash."

Bemused, I stand alone while he disappears inside. I listen hard, and can make out his echoing steps, then a rattle, a scrape and a crackle. My keen sense of smell quickly picks up sulphur – he's lit a match in there! But before I can begin to guess what he's up to, he's back beside me.

"Shut your eyes. I'm going to carry you over the threshold."

I do as I'm told, placing my arms around his neck so that he can scoop me up. I nuzzle into his neck so that he can tell I'm not peeking. As we enter the cave the air is chilled but surprisingly not too cold. Jabir's footsteps echo hollowly, and all around I can hear the drip, drip of water.

Presently, Jabir stops, and places me gently on my feet. He turns me so I am standing with my back to his front, my eyes cast down so I can only see our feet and the rough, stony floor.

"You can look now."

I raise my head and gasp – Jabir has outdone himself again!

We are standing in what must surely be called an ice-cave. The ground beneath our feet is littered with rough pebbles – possibly the result of the glacier grinding down the landscape. The walls and ceiling curve over us in an arch-shaped tunnel. They are made purely of blue, ridged ice. The light from the entrance is reflected far into the tunnel by the facets of the ice. We are under a frozen wave, bathed in an aquamarine glow.

But Jabir has been busy in here; in front of us is a space where he has cleared the rocks and pebbles and made a bed for us using the throws and cushions from the old cave. He has lined the floor around the bed with bracken and grass and wildflowers. A dozen night light candles twinkle on strategically placed rocks, adding their dancing light to the ambience of the cave. This is what he was up to with the matches. Then realisation dawns – Jabir has made a bower!

A small CD player stands silently upon one of the rocks. Jabir follows my eyes and sees it at the same time as me. He dashes forward and turns it on. As he turns back to me, his eyes shining, the music begins. A male voice, husky, sings a plaintive, haunting melody over a single chord. The language is alien to me, I don't know what he's singing, but as it echoes around the ice cave, it tugs at me on some deep level, as though it should be familiar, as though it should somehow be part of me. Then, when a small, lone drum gently joins the voice, I'm transported back to the slave sheds, to long evenings spent listening to the men drumming and singing the songs taught them by their parents; traditional songs to remind them of home.

"This music, what is it?" I whisper.

"Youssou N'Dour. Very famous in Senegal. He's singing in Wolof, our national tongue."

"Do you understand it?"

"Some."

We fall silent again, listening to the music as the voice soars around us. We don't move until this song ends, and another begins. This new song is a ballad, a slow pop song in duet with a woman singing in English. It's familiar – maybe I've heard it on a radio before.

I'm suddenly very nervous. The moment that I knew must come but somehow pushed to the back of my mind is here. It may only be late morning, but the moment of our wedding night has arrived. I would walk into the fire for this man, without hesitation, so why should I be afraid now? I know he is waiting for my response to this spectacular cave and the work he has done here, but I find myself tongue-tied, and turn to bury my face in his chest instead.

"What's wrong, don't you like it?" Jabir sounds almost as nervous as me.

"It's perfect," I mumble against his sternum. "I'm just a little – overwhelmed."

Jabir gently lifts my chin and lowers his own face so that we are eye to eye with our foreheads resting together. Holding me close, he begins to sway so that we are both dancing to the music. His body is so warm compared to the slightly chill air of the cave, and I can't help, when he runs a finger delicately down my spine, a small nervous hitch in my breathing.

"Hey," he murmurs. "It's alright. It's just you and me now. All you have to do is let me take the lead. I won't hurt you." He leans his head back to press his lips against my forehead, my eye, my cheek. I raise my own mouth to meet his and he kisses me delicately, affectionately, sending the now familiar frisson through me. I part my lips, seeking his tongue with mine, and he deepens the kiss. Without breaking contact, he lifts me once more, carries me towards the bed and lays me down, lowering himself beside me, while the music plays on.

True to his word, he is extremely gentle. His caresses with hands, lips, tongue, even his teeth are delicate, tender and loving. I am barely aware when he divests first himself and then me of clothing and his touch becomes more intimate. Slowly, with the music echoing quietly around us, I begin to relax until finally, I am ready to respond and surrender myself to his slow, sensual lovemaking.

I lie in his arms with my head on his chest, listening to his breathing. The candles are burning low now, some have gone out already, and the light outside is also fading. The CD has long since ended, I hadn't noticed when it stopped, so the only sounds are of our breathing and the spluttering of one of the candles as it reaches the very end of its wick. We're so comfortable like this, snuggled under one of the blankets that we haven't moved for some time. Jabir's eyes are closed, giving the appearance that he is asleep, although, of course, he isn't. From my vantage point on his chest, I can see the underneath of a small but strong jaw, full lips turned up in a half-smile, nostrils flaring slightly with each breath and long, black eyelashes resting on high cheek-bones.

This boy – no, this impossibly beautiful _man_ – has chosen me for his mate, for his wife. I roll the words around in my head for a bit – Jabir Mbaye is my husband. I am his wife, Grace Mbaye. I repeat my new name to myself a few times. For the first time since the Piccolis took me in, I truly _belong._ I have taken the surname of the man I love. He has given me his name, given me his heart, and in return, has accepted me, and despite all my hang-ups and flaws, he genuinely loves me. This man is my world now. And I realise, he has been for some time. Maybe since the day he agreed to come with me and have me change him.

Leisurely, I begin to trace the fingers of one hand over his chest, up toward his clavicle then down the centre, over his sternum and towards his navel, feeling a guilty jolt of desire as his flesh becomes softer and very slightly downy. There my hand stops, and I start to trace upwards once more, but Jabir's hand moves suddenly and grabs mine. Slowly, inexorably, he guides it lower again, under the blanket, past his navel, lower still, and places it upon himself _down there. _

Shocked, I draw a sharp breath and raise my head to meet his smug gaze.

"Well, Grace, am I the man now?" he asks, grinning impishly. Where he's holding my hand to, I can be left in no doubt of his meaning.

"Yes." My voice won't work, the word comes out as a squeak. He's so… _naughty, _and I'm absolutely mortified. With a peck to my forehead, he releases my hand and shifts suddenly so that I am on my back and he is laying over me, propped up on his elbows. Grateful to have my hand freed, I draw it quickly out from under the blanket, and reach up with both hands to stroke his shoulders. He leans down to kiss me, a passionate, lingering kiss, then pushes himself back up to regard me seriously, no longer teasing.

"Good," he says, "because there's something else." He smiles at my quizzical expression and kisses the tip of my nose.

"I don't want us to be monsters any more," he informs me, his lips tickling as they move across to the corner of my mouth. "I want us both to give up human blood."


End file.
